UC-NRLF 


B    M    1DM 


• 


tyRPEJU  BROTHERS  Pl/BUS>fERSl. 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York 

Copyright,  1878,  by  JACOB  ABBOTF, 


#/fM) 

PREFACE. 


The  development  of  the  moral  sentiments  in  the 
human  heart,  in  early  life, — and  every  thing  in  fact 
which  relates  to  the  formation  of  character, — is  deter 
mined  in  a  far  greater  degree  by  sympathy,  and  by 
the  influence  of  example,  than  by  formal  precepts  and 
didactic  instruction.  If  a  boy  hears  his  father  speak 
ing  kindly  to  a  robin  in  the  spring, — welcoming  its 
coming  and  offering  it  food, — there  arises  at  once  in 
his  own  mind,  a  feeling  of  kindness  toward  the  bird, 
and  toward  all  the  animal  creation,  which  is  produced 
by  a  sort  of  sympathetic  action,  a  power  somewhat 
similar  to  what  in  physical  philosophy  is  called  indue- 
tion.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  father,  instead  of  feed 
ing  the  bird,  goes  eagerly  for  a  gun,  in  order  that  he 
may  shoot  it,  the  boy  will  sympathize  in  that  desire, 
and  growing  up  under  such  an  influence,  there  will  be 
gradually  formed  within  him,  through  the  mysterious 
tendency  of  the  youthful  heart  to  vibrate  in  unison  with 
hearts  that  are  near,  a  disposition  to  kill  and  destroy 
all  helpless  beings  that  come  within  his  power.  There 


vi  PREFACE. 

is  no  need  of  any  formal  instruction  in  either  case. 
Of  a  thousand  children  brought  up  under  the  former 
of  the  above-described  influences,  nearly  every  one, 
when  he  sees  a  bird,  will  wish  to  go  and  get  crumbs 
to  feed  it,  while  in  the  latter  case,  nearly  every  one 
will  just  as  certainly  look  for  a  stone.  Thus  the  grow 
ing  up  in  the  right  atmosphere,  rather  than  the  receiv 
ing  of  the  right  instruction,  is  the  condition  which  it 
is  most  important  to  secure,  in  plans  for  forming  thp> 
characters  of  children. 

It  is  in  accordance  with  this  philosophy  that  these 
stories,  though  written  mainly  with  a  view  to  their 
moral  influence  on  the  hearts  and  dispositions  of  the 
readers,  contain  very  little  formal  exhortation  and  in 
struction.  They  present  quiet  and  peaceful  pictures  of 
happy  domestic  life,  portraying  generally  such  conduct, 
and  expressing  such  sentiments  and  feelings,  as  it  is 
desirable  to  exhibit  and  express  in  the  presence  of 
children. 

The  books,  however,  will  be  found,  perhaps,  after  all, 
to  be  useful  mainly  in  entertaining  and  amusing  the 
youthful  readers  who  may  peruse  them,  as  the  writing 
of  them  has  been  the  amusement  and  recreation  of  the 
author  in  the  intervals  of  more  serious  pursuits. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — JEMMY,         ....  .11 

II.— THE  BRIDE.  .  .  29 
HI. — MARY  ERSKINE'S  VISITORS,  .  t  ,  .48 
IV.— CALAMITY, 69 

V. — CONSULTATIONS, 90 

VI. — MARY  BELL  IN  THE  WOODS,  .  .  ,  ,  J10 

VII.— HOUSE-KEEPING, 129 

VIIL— THE  SCHOOL, .  .  147 

IX. — GOOD  MANAGEMENT, Ib7 

X. — THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  £RSKINE'S  .  185 


ENGRAVINGS. 


MARY  ERSKINE'S  FARM — FRONTISPIECE. 

CATCHING  THE  HORSE,     ...  .27 

THE  LOG  HOUSE, 46' 

MARY  BELL  AT  THE  BROOK,     .....    63 
THE  WIDOW  AND  THE  FATHERLESS,    .        .        .     .    86 

MRS.  BELL, ,92 

MARY  BELL  AND  QUEEN  BESS,    .        .        ,        .     ,   126 
MARY  BELL  GETTING  BREAKFAST,   .        „        .        ,132 

THE  SCHOOL, 156 

GOING  TO  COURT,  169 

THE  STRAWBERRY  PARTY,  .        .        .  .     ,  195 


PRANCONIA    STORIES. 


ORDER  OF  THE  VOLUMES, 

RODOLPHUS. 
ELLEN  LINN. 
STUYVESANT 
CAROLINE. 

AGNES. 


MALLEVILLE. 
WALLACE. 
MARY  ERSKINE 
MARY  BELL. 
BEECHNUT. 


SCENE  OF  THE  STORY. 

The  country  in  the  vicinity  of  Franconia,  at  the  North. 

PRINCIPAL  PERSONS 

MARY  ERSKINE. 

ALBERT. 

PHONNY  and  MALLEVILLE,  cousins,  residing  at  the  house  of 

Phonny's  mother. 
MRS.  HENRY,  Phonny's  mother. 
ANTONIO  BIANCHINETTK,  a  French  boy,  residing  at  Mrs.  He» 

ry's ;  commonly  called  Beechnut. 
MRS.  BELL,  i  widow  lady,  living  in  the  vicinity  of  Mrs.  Hen- 

ry's. 
MARY  BELL,  her  daughter. 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


CHAPTER    I. 
JEMMY. 


Malleville  and  Phonny.  The  recessea, 

"It  TALLEVILLE  and  her  cousin  Phonny 
lT_L  generally  played  together  at  Franconia 
a  great  part  of  the  day,  and  at  night  they  slept 
in  two  separate  recesses  which  opened  out  of 
the  same  room.  These  recesses  were  deep  and 
large,  and  they  were  divided  from  the  room  by 
curtains,  so  that  they  formed  as  it  were  sepa 
rate  chambers :  and  yet  the  children  could 
speak  to  each  other  from  them  in  the  morning 
before  they  got  up,  since  the  curtains  did  not  in 
tercept  the  sound  of  their  voices.  They  might 
have  talked  in  the  same  manner  at  night,  after 
they  had  gone  to  bed,  but  this  was  against  Mrs. 
Henry's  rules. 

One  morning  Malleville,  after  lying  awake  a 
few  minutes,  listening  to  the  birds  that  were 
singing  in  the  yard,  and  wishing  that  the  win- 


12  MARV   ERSKINE. 


Getting  up.  The  baking-room. 

dow  was  open  so  that  she  could  hear  them  more 
distinctly,  heard  Phonny's  voice  calling  to  her 

"  Malleville,'  said  he,  "  are  you  awake  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Malleville,  "  are  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Phonny,  "  I  m  awake — but  what 
A  cold  morning  it  :'s !" 

It  was  indeed  a  cold  morning,  or  at  least  a 
very  cool  one.  This  was  somewhat  remarkable, 
as  it  was  in  the  month  of  June.  But  the 
country  about  Franconia  was  cold  in  winter, 
and  cool  in  summer.  Phonny  and  Malleville 
rose  and  dressed  themselves,  and  then  went 
down  stairs.  They  hoped  to  find  a  fire  in  the 
sitting-room,  but  there  was  none. 

"  How  sorry  I  am,"  said  Phonny.  "  But 
hark,  I  hear  a  roaring." 

"  Yes,"  said  Malleville  ;  "  it  is  the  oven  ;  they 
are  going  to  bake." 

The  back  of  the  oven  was  so  near  to  the 
partition  wall  which  formed  one  side  of  the  sit 
ting-room,  that  the  sound  of  the  fire  could  be 
heard  through  it.  The  mouth  of  the  oven  how- 
ive^  opened  into  another  small  room  connected 
witn  the  kitchen,  which  was  called  the  baking- 
room.  The  children  went  out  into  the  baking- 
room,  to  warm  themselves  by  the  oven  fire. 

"  1  am  very  glad  that  it  is  a  coo1  day,"  said 


JEMMY.  13 

Phonny  proposes  a  visit  to  Mary  Erskine's.  Tie  two  Marys. 

Phonny,  "  for  perhaps  mother  will  let  us  go  to 
Mary  Erskine's.  Should  not  you  like  to  go  ?" 

"  Yes/'  said  Malleville,  "  very  much.  Wheie 
is  it?" 

The  readers  who  have  perused  the  preceding 
volumes  of  this  series  will  have  observed  that 
Mary  Bell,  who  lived  with  her  mother  in  the 
pleasant  little  farm-house  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  village,  was  always  called  by  her  full 
name,  Mary  Bell,  and  not  ever,  or  scarcely  ever, 
merely  Mary.  People  had  acquired  the  habit 
of  speaking  of  her  in  this  way,  in  order  to  dis 
tinguish  her  from  another  Mary  who  lived  with 
Mrs.  Bell  for  several  years.  This  other  Mary 
was  Mary  Erskine.  Mary  Erskine  did  not 
live  now  at  Mrs.  Bell's,  but  at  another  house 
which  was  situated  nearly  two  miles  from  Mrs, 
Henry's,  and  the  way  to  it  was  by  a  very  wild 
and  unfrequented  road.  The  children  were  fre 
quently  accustomed  to  go  and  make  Mary  Er 
skine  a  visit ;  but  it  was  so  long  a  walk  that 
Mrs.  Henry  never  allowed  them  to  go  unless 
on  a  very  cool  day. 

At  breakfast  that  morning  Phonny  asked  his 
mother  if  that  would  not  be  a  good  day  for  them 
to  go  and  see  Mary  Erskine.  Mrs.  Henry  said 
that  it  would  be  an  excellent  day,  and  that  she 


14  MARY   ERSKINE. 

Kater's  corner.  The  cart-path.  Preparations. 

should  be  very  glad  to  have  them  go,  for  there 
were  some  things  there  to  be  brought  home. 
Besides  Beechnut  was  going  to  mill,  and  he 
f  ould  carry  them  as  far  as  Kater's  corner. 

Kater's  corner  was  a  place  where  a  sort  of 
cart  path,  branching  off  from  the  main  road,  led 
through  the  woods  to  the  house  where  Mary 
Erskine  lived.  It  took  its  name  from  a  farmer, 
whose  name  was  Kater,  and  whose  house  was 
at  the  corner  where  the  roads  diverged.  The 
main  road  itself  was  very  rough  and  wild,  and 
the  cart  path  which  led  from  the  corner  was 
almost  impassable  in  summer,  even  for  a  wagon, 
though  it  was  a  very  romantic  and  beautiful 
road  for  travelers  on  horseback  or  on  foot.  In 
the  winter  the  road  was  excellent :  for  the  snow 
buried  all  the  roughnesses  of  the  way  two  or 
,hree  feet  deep,  and  the  teams  which  went  back 
and  forth  into  the  woods,  made  a  smooth  and 
beautiful  track  for  every  thing  on  runners,  upon 
the  top  of  it. 

Malleville  and  Phonny  were  very  much 
pleased  with  the  prospect  of  riding  a  part  of  the 
way  to  Mary  Erskine's,  with  Beechnut,  in  the 
wagon.  They  made  themselves  ready  imme 
diately  after  breakfast,  and  then  went  and  sat 
upon  the  step  of  the  door,  waiting  iov 


JEMMY.  15 

Phonny's  amusement  at  Malleville's  expense. 

Beechnut  to  appear.    Beechnut  was  in  the  barn, 
harnessing  the  horse  into  the  wagon. 

Malleville  sat  down  quietly  upon  the  step 
while  waiting  for  Beechnut.  Phonny  began  to 
amuse  himself  by  climbing  up  th  railing  of  the 
bannisters,  at  the  side  of  the  stairs.  He  was 
trying  to  poise  himself  upon  the  top  of  the  rail 
ing  and  then  to  work  himself  up  the  ascent  by 
pulling  and  pushing  with  his  hands  and  feet 
against  the  bannisters  themselves  below. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  do  that,"  said  Malle 
ville.  "  I  think  it  is  very  foolish,  for  you  may 
fall  and  hurt  yourself." 

"No,"  said  Phonny.  "  It  is  not  foolish.  It 
is  very  useful  for  me  to  learn  to  climb."  So 
saying  he  went  on  scrambling  up  the  railing  of 
the  bannisters  as  before. 

Just  then  Beechnut  came  along  through  the 
yard,  towards  the  house.  He  was  coming  for 
the  whip. 

"  Beechnut,"  said  Malleville,  "  I  wish  that 
you  would  speak  to  Phonny." 

"Is  it  foolish  for  me  to  learn  to  clirro.1' 
asked  Phonny.  In  order  to  see  Beechnut  while 
he  asked  this  question,  Phonny  had  to  twist  his 
head  round  in  a  very  unusual  position,  and  Jook 
out  under  hi*  arm.  It  \vas  obvious  that  in  doing 


16  MARY   ERSKINE. 

Beechnut's  opinion.  Phoney'*  fall. 

this  he  was  in  imminent  danger  of  falling,  sf. 
unstable  was  the  equilibrium  in  which  he  wa* 
poised  upon  the  rail. 
,    "  Is  not  he  foolish  ?"  asked  Malleville 

Beechnut  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  thej 
said,  as  he  resumed  his  walk  through  the  entry 

"  Not  very ; — that  is  for  a  boy.  I  have 
known  boys  sometimes  to  do  foolisher  things 
than  that." 

"  What  did  they  do  ?"  asked  Phonny. 

"  Why  once,"  said  Beechnut,  "  I  knew  a  boy 
who  put  his  nose  into  the  crack  of  the  door, 
and  then  took  hold  of  the  iatch  and  pulled  the 
door  to,  and  pinched  his  nose  to  death,  That 
was  a  little  more  foolish,  though  not  much." 

So  saying  Beechnut  passed  through  the  dooi 
and  disappeared. 

Phonny  was  seized  with  so  violent  a  convul 
sion  of  laughter  at  the  idea  of  such  absurd  folly 
as  Beechnui  had  described,  that  he  tumbled 
off  the  bannisters,  but  fortunately  he  fell  in,  to 
wards  the  stairs,  and  was  very  little  hurt.  He 
came  down  the  stairs  to  Malleville,  and  as 
Beechnut  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  t,ie 
whip,  they  all  went  out  towards  the  barn  to 
gether, 

Beecnriut  had  already  put  the  bags  of  grain 


JEMMY.  17 

They  start  on  their  ride. 


into  the  wagon  behind,  and  now  he  assisted 
Phonny  and  Malleville  to  get  in.  He  gave  them 
the  whole  of  the  seat,  in  order  that  they  might 
nave  plenty  of  room,  and  also  that  they  might 
l»e  high  up,  where  they  could  see.  He  had  a 
small  bench  which  was  made  to  fit  in,  in  front, 
and  which  he  was  accustomed  to  use  for  him 
self,  as  a  sort  of  driver's  seat,  whenever  the 
wagon  was  full.  He  placed  this  bench  in  its 
place  in  front,  and  taking  his  seat  upon  it,  he 
drove  away. 

When  the  party  had  thus  fairly  set  out,  and 
Phonny  and  Malleville  had  in  some  measure 
*inished  uttering  the  multitude  of  exclamations 
of  delight  with  which  they  usually  commenced 
a  ride,  they  began  to  wish  that  Beechnut  would 
tell  them  a  story.  Now  Beechnut  was  a  boy 
of  boundless  fertility  of  imagination,  and  he  was 
almost  always  ready  to  tell  a  story.  His  stories 
were  usually  invented  on  the  spot,  and  were 
often  extremely  wild  and  extravagant,  both  in 
the  incidents  involved  in  them,  and  in  the  per 
sonages  whom  he  introduced  as  actors.  The 
extravagance  of  these  tales  was  however  usu 
ally  no  objection  to  them  in  Phonny 's  and  Mai- 
leville's  estimation.  In  fact  Beechnut  observed 
that  the  more  extravagant  his  stories  were,  the 
R 


18  MARY   ERSKINE. 

A  story  of  a  cat,  Her  name  is  Sligo. 

better  pleased  his  auditors  generally  appeared 
to  be  in  listening  to  them.  He  therefore  did 
not  spare  invention,  or  restrict  himself  by  any 
mles  either  of  truth  or  probability  in  his  narra 
tives.  Nor  did  he  usually  require  any  time  for 
preparation,  but  commenced  at  once  with  what 
ever  came  into  his  head,  pronouncing  the  first 
sentence  of  his  story,  very  often  without  any 
idea  of  what  he  was  to  say  next. 

On  this  occasion  Beechnut  began  as  follows  : 

"  Once  there  was  a  girl  about  three  years  old, 
and  she  had  a  large  black  cat.  The  cat  was  of 
a  jet  black  color,  and  her  fur  was  very  soft  and 
glossy.  It  was  as  soft  as  silk. 

"  This  cat  was  very  mischievous  and  very  sly. 
She  was  very  sly  :  very  indeed.  In  fact  she 
used  to  go  about  the  house  so  very  slily,  getting 
into  all  sorts  of  mischief  which  the  people  could 
never  find  out  till  afterwards,  that  they  gave  her 
the  name  of  Sligo.  Some  people  said  that  the 
reason  why  she  had  that  name  was  because  she 
came  from  a  place  called  Sligo,  in  Ireland.  But 
that  was  not  the  reason.  It  was  veritably  and 
tiuly  because  she  was  so  sly." 

Beechnut  pronounced  this  decision  in  respect 
to  the  etymological  import  of  the  pussy's  name 
in  the  most  grave  and  serious  manner,  and  IMaL 


JEMMY.  19 


Sligo  in  the  parlor.  The  work-basket. 

leville  and  Phonny  listened  with  profound  at 
tention. 

"  What  was  the  girl's  name  ?"  asked  Malle- 
ville. 

"  The  girl's  ?"  repeated  Beechnut.  "  Oh,  her 
name  was — Arabella." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Malleville. 

"  One  day,"  continued  Beechnut,  "  Sligo  was 
walking  about  the  house,  trying  to  find  some 
thing  to  do.  She  came  into  the  parlor.  There 
was  nobody  there.  She  looked  about  a  little, 
and  presently  she  saw  a  work-basket  upon  the 
corner  of  a  table,  where  Arabella's  mother  had 
oeen  at  work.  Sligo  began  to  look  at  the  bas 
ket,  thinking  that  it  would  make  a  good  nest  for 
her  to  sleep  in,  if  she  could  only  get  it  under 
the  clock.  The  clock  stood  in  a  corner  of  the 
room. 

"Sligo  accordingly  jumped  up  into  a  chaii, 
and  from  the  chair  to  the  table,  and  then  push 
ing  the  basket  along  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
edge  of  the  table,  she  at  last  made  it  fall  over, 
and  all  the  sewing  and  knitting  work,  and  the 
DSLAS,  and  needles,  and  spools,  feu  out  upon  the 
floor.  Sligo  then  jumped  down  and  pushed  the 
basket  along  toward  the  clock.  She  finally  got 
it  under  the  clock,  crept  into  it,  curled-herself 


20 


Arabella  punished  for  Sligo's  mischief. 

round  into  the  form  of  a  semicircle  inside,  so 
as  just  to  fill  the  basket,  and  went  to  sleep. 

"Presently  Arabella  came  in,  and  seeing  the 
spools  and  balls  upon  the  floor,  began  to  play 
wilh  them.  In  a  few  minutes  more,  Arabella's 
mother  came  in,  and  when  she  saw  Arabella 
playing  with  these  things  upon  the  floor,  she 
supposed  that  Arabella  herself  was  the  rogue 
that  had  thrown  the  basket  off  the  table  Ara 
bella  could  not  talk  much.  When  her  mother 
accused  her  of  doing  this  mischief,  she  could 
only  say  "  No  ;"  "  no  ;"  but  her  mother  did  not 
believe  her.  So  she  made  her  go  and  stand  up 
in  the  corner  of  the  room,  for  punishment,  while 
Sligo  peeped  out  from  under  the  clock  to  see." 

"But  you  said  that  Sligo  was  asleep,"  said 
Phonny. 

"  Yes,  she  went  to  sleep,"  replied  Beechnut, 
"  but  she  waked  up  when  Arabella's  mother 
came  into  the  room." 

Beechnut  here  paused  a  moment  to  consider 
what  he  should  say  next,  when  suddenly  he 
began  to  point  forward  to  a  little  distance  be 
fore  them  in  the  road,  where  a  boy  was  to  be 
seen  at  the  side  of  the  road,  sitting  upon  a  stone 

"  I  verily  believe  it  is  Jemmy,"  said  he. 

As  the  wagon  approached  the  place  where 


JEMMY.  21 


Jemmy  in  distress  Beechnut  stops  to  help  him. 

Jemmy  was  sitting,  they  found  that  he  was 
bending  down  over  his  foot,  and  moaning  with 
pain.  Beechnut  asked  him  what  was  the  mat 
ter.  He  said  that  he  had  sprained  his  foot 
dreadfully.  Beechnut  stopped  the  horse,  and 
giving  the  reins  to  Phonny,  he  got  out  to  see. 
Phonny  immediately  gave  them  to  Malleville, 
and  followed. 

"  Are  you  much  hurt  ?"  asked  Beechnut. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jemmy,  moaning  and  groan 
ing  ;  "  oh  dear  me !" 

Beechnut  then  went  back  to  the  horse,  and 
taking  him  by  the  bridle,  he  led  him  a  little  way 
out  of  the  road,  toward  a  small  tree,  where  he 
thought  he  would  stand,  and  then  taking  Malle 
ville  out,  so  that  she  might  not  be  in  any  dan 
ger  if  the  horse  should  chance  to  start,  he  went 
back  to  Jemmy. 

"  You  see,"  said  Jemmy,  "  I  was  going  to 
mill,  and  I  was  riding  along  here,  and  the  horse 
pranced  about  and  threw  me  off  and  sprained 
my  foot.  Oh  dear  me  !  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Where  is  the  horse  ?"  asked  Beechnut. 

"  There  he  is,"  said  Jemmy,  "  somewhere  out 
there.  He  has  gone  along  the  road.  And  the 
bags  have  fallen  off  too.  Oh  dear  me  !" 

Phonny  ran  out  into  the  road,  and  looked  for- 


22  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  horse.  Jemmy's  character.  The  circus. 

ward.  He  could  see  the  horse  standing  by 
the  side  of  the  road  at  some  distance,  quietly 
eating  the  grass.  A  little  this  side  of  the  place 
where  the  horse  stood,  the  bags  were  lying 
upon  the  ground,  not  very  far  from  each 
other. 

The  story  which  Jemmy  told  was  not  strictly 
true.  He  was  one  of  the  boys  of  the  village, 
and  was  of  a  wild  and  reckless  character.  This 
was,  however,  partly  his  father's  fault,  who  never 
gave  him  any  kind  and  friendly  instruction,  and 
always  treated  him  with  a  great  degree  of  stern 
ness  and  severity. 

A  circus  company  had  visited  Francoma  a 
few  weeks  before  the  time  of  this  accident,  and 
Jemmy  had  peeped  through  the  cracks  of  the 
fence  that,  formed  their  enclosure,  and  had  seen 
the  performers  ride  around  the  ring,  standing 
upon  the  backs  of  the  horses.  He  was  imme 
diately  inspired  with  the  ambition  to  imitate 
this  feat,  and  the  next  time  that  he  mounted  his 
father's  horse,  he  made  the  attempt  to  perform 
it.  His  father,  when  he  found  it  out,  was  very 
angry  with  him,  and  sternly  forbade  him  ever 
to  do  such  a  thing  again.  He  declared  posi 
tively  that  if  he  did,  he  would  whip  him  to 
death,  as  he  said.  Jemmy  was  silent,  but  h& 


JEMMY.  23 


Jemmy  resolves  to  imitate  the  performers. 

secretly  resolved  that  he  would  ride  standing 
again,  the  very  first  opportunity. 

Accordingly,  when  his  father  put  the  two  bags 
o"  grain  upon  the  horse,  and  ordered  Jemmy  to 
go  to  mill  with  them,  Jemmy  thought  that  the 
opportunity  had  come.  He  had  observed  that 
the  circus  riders,  instead  of  a  saddle,  used  upon 
the  backs  of  their  horses  a  sort  of  flat  pad,  which 
afforded  a  much  more  convenient  footing  than 
any  saddle ;  and  as  to  standing  on  the  naked 
back  of  a  horse,  it  was  manifestly  impossible 
for  any  body  but  a  rope-dancer.  When,  how 
ever,  Jemmy  saw  his  father  placing  the  bags 
of  grain  upon  the  horse,  he  perceived  at  once 
that  a  good  broad  and  level  surface  was  pro 
duced  by  them,  which  was  much  more  extend 
ed  and  level,  even  than  the  pads  of  the  cir 
cus-riders.  He  instantly  resolved,  that  the  mo 
ment  that  he  got  completely  away  from  the 
vi  lage,  he  would  mount  upon  the  bags  and  ride 
standing — and  ride  so,  too,  just  as  long  as  he 
pleased. 

Accordingly;  as  soon  as  he  had  passed  the 
house  where  Phonny  lived,  which  was  the  last 
house  in  that  direction  for  some  distance,  he 
looked  round  in  order  to  be  sure  that  his  father 
was  not  by  any  accident  behind  him,  and  then 


24  MARY   ERS KIN E. 

He  stands  upon  the  bags,— he  dances. 


slimbing  up  first  upon  his  knees,  and  afterward 
upon  his  feet,  he  drew-up  the  reins  cautiously, 
and  then  chirruped  to  the  horse  to  go  on.  Tho 
horse  began  to  move  slowly  along.  Jemmy 
was  surprised  and  delighted  to  find  how  firm 
his  footing  was  on  the  broad  surface  of  the  bags. 
Growing  more  and  more  bold  and  confident  as 
he  became  accustomed  to  his  situation,  he  began 
presently  to  dance  about,  or  rather  to  perform 
certain  awkward  antics,  which  he  considered 
dancing,  looking  round  continually,  with  a  min 
gled  expression  of  guilt,  pleasure,  and  fear,  in  his 
countenance,  in  order  to  be  sure  that  his  father 
was  not  corning.  Finally,  he  undertook  to  make 
his  horse  trot  a  little.  The  horse,  however,  by 
this  time,  began  to  grow  somewhat  impatient  at 
the  unusual  sensations  which  he  experienced — 
he  weight  of  the  rider  being  concentrated  upon 
one  single  point,  directly  on  his  back,  and  rest- 
ng  very  unsteadily  and  interruptedly  there,-— 
and  the  bridle-reins  passing  up  almost  perpen 
dicularly  into  the  air,  instead  of  declining  back- 
vvards,  as  they  ought  to  do  in  any  proper  posi 
tion  of  the  horseman.  He  began  to  trot  for 
ward  faster  and  faster.  Jemmy  soon  found 
that  it  would  be  prudent  to  restrain  him,  but  in 
his  upright  position,  he  had  no  control  over  the 


JEMMY.  25 

He  falls.  He  is  afraid  to  go  home. 

horse  by  pulling  the  reins.  He  only  pulled  the 
horse's  head  upwards,  and  made  him  more  un 
easy  and  impatient  than  before.  He  then  at 
tempted  to  get  down  into  a  sitting  posture  again, 
but  in  doing  so,  he  fell  off  upon  the  hard  road 
and  sprained  his  ancle.  The  horse  trotted  rap 
idly  on,  until  the  bags  fell  off,  first  one  and  then 
the  other.  Finding  himself  thus  wholly  at  lib 
erty,  he  stopped  and  began  to  eat  the  grass  at 
the  road-side,  wholly  unconcerned  at  the  mis 
chief  that  had  been  done. 

Jemmy's  distress  was  owing  much  more  to  his 
alarm  and  his  sense  of  guilt,  than  to  the  ac 
tual  pain  of  the  injury  which  he  dad  suffered. 
He  was,  however,  entirely  disabled  by  the 
sprain. 

"It  is  rather  a  hard  case,"  said  Beechnut, 
"no  doubt,  but  never  mind  it,  Jemmy.  A  man 
may  break  his  leg,  and  yet  live  to  dance  many 
a  hornpipe  afterwards.  You'll  get  over  all  this 
and  laugh  about  it  one  day.  Come,  I'll  carry 
you  home  in  my  wagon." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  to  go  home,"  said  Jemmy. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of?"  asked  Beechnut. 

"  Of  my  father,"  said  Jemmy. 

"Oh  no,"  said  Beechnut.  "The  horse  is  noi 
hurt,  and  as  for  the  grist  I'll  carry  it  to  mill 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Phonny  goes  to  catch  the  horso. 


with  mine.     So  there  is  no  harm  done.     Come, 
let  me  put  you  into  the  wagon." 

"Yes,"  said   Phonny,  "and  I  will   go  and 
catch  the  horse." 

While  Beechnut  was  putting  Jemmy  into  the 
wagon,  Phonny  ran  along  the  road  toward  the 
horse.  The  horse,  hearing  footsteps,  and  sup 
posing  from  the  sound  that  somebody  might  be 
coming  to  catch  him,  was  at  first  disposed  to 
set  off  and  gallop  away ;  but  looking  round  and 
seeing  that  it  was  nobody  but  Phonny  he  went 
on  eating  as  before.  When  Phonny  got  pretty 
near  to  the  horse,  he  began  to  walk  up  slowly 
towards  him,  putting  out  his  hand  as  if  to  take 
hold  of  the  bridle  and  saying,  "  Whoa — Dob 
bin, — whoa."  The  horse  raised  his  head  a  lit 
tle  from  the  grass,  shook  it  very  expressively  at 
Phonny,  walked  on  a  few  steps,  and  then  began 
to  feed  upon  the  grass  as  before.  He  seemed 
to  know  precisely  how  much  resistance  was 
necessary  to  avoid  the  recapture  with  which  he 
was  threatened. 

"Whoa  Jack!  whoa!"  said  Phonny,  advanc 
ing  again.  The  horse,  however,  moved  on, 
shaking  his  head  as  befor^.  He  seemed  to  be 
no  more  disposed  to  recognize  the  name  of  Jack 
than  Dobbin. 


J  E  M  M  Y. 


Beechnut  catches  him. 


CATCHING   THE   HORSE. 


"Jemmy,"  said  Phonny,  turning  back  and 
calling  out  aloud,  "Jemmy!  what's  his  name?'' 

Jemmy  did  not  answer.  He  was  fully  occu 
pied  in  getting  into  the  wagon. 

Beechnut  called  Phonny  back  and  asked  him 
to  hold  his  horse,  while  he  went  to  catch  Jem 
my's  He  did  it  by  opening  one  of  the  bags 
and  taking  out  a  little  grain,  and  by  means  of 
u  enticing  the  stray  horse  near  enough  to  en 
able  him  to  take  hold  of  the  bridle.  He  then 
fastened  him  behind  the  wagon,  and  putting 


28  M 


ARY    HiR&KINE. 


Beechnut  carries  Jemmy  home. 


Jemmy's  two  bags  in,  he  turned  round  and  went 
back  to  carry  Jemmy  home,  leaving  Malleville 
and  Phonny  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Mary 
Eiskine's.  Besides  their  ride,  they  lost  the  re 
mainder  of  the  story  of  Sligo,  if  that  can  be 
said  to  be  lost  which  never  existed.  For  at  the 
time  when  Beechnut  paused  in  his  narration,  he 
had  told  the  story  as  far  as  he  had  invented  it- 
He  had  not  thought  of  another  word. 


THE    BRIDE.  2U 


Mary  Erskine.  Her  ignorance  of  the  Alphabet. 


CHAPTER    II. 
THE  BRIDE. 

MARY  ERSKINE  was  an  orphan.  Her  mothei 
died  when  she  was  about  twelve  years  old. 
Her  father  had  died  long  before,  and  after  her 
father's  death  her  mother  was  very  poor,  and 
lived  in  so  secluded  and  solitary  a  place,  that 
Mary  had  no  opportunity  then  to  go  to  school. 
She  began  to  work  too  as  soon  as  she  was  able 
to  do  any  thing,  and  it  was  necessary  from  that 
day  forward  for  her  to  work  all  the  time ;  and 
this  would  have  prevented  her  from  going  to 
school,  if  there  had  been  one  near.  Thus  when 
her  mother  died,  although  she  was  an  intelligent 
and  very  sensible  girl,  she  could  neither  read 
nor  write  a  word.  She  told  Mrs.  Bell  the  cay 
that  she  went  to  live  with  her,  that  she  did  not 
even  know  any  of  the  letters,  except  the  round 
one  and  the  crooked  one.  The  round  one  she 
said  she  always  knew,  and  as  for  S  she  learned 
that,  because  it  stood  for  Erskine.  This  shows 
how  little  she  knew  about  spelling. 


SO  MARYERSKINE. 


Her  position  in  Mrs.  Bell's  family. 


Mrs.  Bell  wanted  Mary  Erskine  to  help  her 
in  taking  care  of  her  own  daughter  Mary,  who 
was  then  an  infant.  As  both  the  girls  were 
named  Mary,  the  people  of  the  family  and  the 
neighbors  gradually  fell  into  the  habit  of  calling 
each  of  them  by  her  full  name,  in  order  to  dis 
tinguish  them  from  each  other.  Thus  the  baby 
was  never  called  Mary,  but  always  Mary  Bell 
and  the  little  nursery  maid  was  always  known 
as  Mary  Erskine. 

Mary  Erskine  became  a  great  favorite  at  Mrs. 
Bell's.  She  was  of  a  very  light-hearted  and 
joyous  disposition,  always  contented  and  happy, 
singing  like  a  nightingale  at  her  work  all  the 
day  long,  when  she  was  alone,  and  cheering 
and  enlivening  all  around  her  by  her  buoyant 
spirits  when  she  was  in  company.  When  Mary 
Bell  became  old  enough  to  run  about  and  play, 
Mary  Erskine  became  her  playmate  and  com 
panion,  as  well  as  her  protector.  There  was 
no  distinction  of  rank  to  separate  them.  If 
Mary  Bell  had  been  as  old  as  Mary  Erskine  and 
had  had  a  younger  sister,  her  duties  in  the 
household  would  have  been  exactly  the  same  as 
Mary  Erskine's  were.  In  fact,  Mary  Erskine's 
position  was  altogether  that  of  an  older  sister, 
and  strangers  visiting  the  family  would  have 


THE   BRIDE.  31 


Why  Mary  Erskine  did  not  go  to  school. 

supposed  that  the  two  girls  were  really  sisters 
had  they  not  both  been  named  Mary. 

Mary  Erskine  was  about  twelve  years  oldei 
than  Mary  Bell,  so  that  when  Mary  Bell  began 
to  go  to  school,  which  was  when  she  was  about 
five  years  old,  Mary  Erskine  was  about  seven 
teen.  Mrs.  Bell  had  proposed,  when  Mary  Er 
skine  first  came  to  her  house,  that  she  would  go 
to  school  and  learn  to  read  and  write ;  but 
Mary  had  been  very  much  disinclined  to  do  so. 
In  connection  with  the  amiableness  and  gentle 
ness  of  her  character  and  her  natural  good 
sense,  she  had  a  great  deal  of  pride  and  inde 
pendence  of  spirit ;  and  she  was  very  unwilling 
to  go  to  school — being,  as  she  was,  almost  in  her 
teens — and  begin  there  to  learn  her  letters  with 
the  little  children.  Mrs.  Bell  ought  to  have  re 
quired  her  to  go,  notwithstanding  her  reluc 
tance,  or  else  to  have  made  some  other  propel 
arrangement  for  teaching  her  to  read  and  write. 
Mrs.  Bell  was  aware  of  this  in  fact,  and  fre 
quently  resolved  that  she  would  do  so.  But  she 
postponed  the  performance  of  her  resolution 
from  month  to  month  and  year  to  year,  and 
finally  it  was  not  performed  at  all.  Mary  Er 
skine  was  so  very  useful  at  home,  that  a  conve 
nient  time  for  sparing  her  never  came.  And 


32  MARYERSKINE. 


The  evt'iiing  walk.  Albert. 

then  besides  she  was  so  kind,  and  so  tractable, 
and  so  intent  upon  complying  with  all  Mrs. 
Bell's  wishes,  in  every  respect,  that  Mrs.  Bell 
was  extremely  averse  to  require  any  thing  of 
ler,  which  would  mortify  her,  or  give  her  pain. 
When  Mary  Erskine  was  about  eighteen 
years  old,  she  was  walking  home  one  evening 
from  the  village,  where  she  had  been  to  do  some 
shopping  for  Mrs.  Bell,  and  as  she  came  to  a 
solitary  part  of  the  road  after  having  left  the 
last  house  which  belonged  to  the  village,  she 
saw  a  young  man  coming  out  of  the  woods  at 
a  little  distance  before  her.  She  recognized 
him,  immediately,  as  a  young  man  whom  she 
called  Albert,  who  had  often  been  employed  by 
Mrs.  Bell,  at  work  about  the  farm  and  garden. 
Albert  was  a  very  sedate  and  industrious  young 
man,  of  frank  and  open  and  manly  countenance, 
and  of  an  erect  and  athletic  form.  Mary  Er 
skine  liked  Albert  very  well,  and  yet  the  first 
impulse  was,  when  she  saw  him  coming,  to  cross 
ever  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  thus  pass 
him  at  a  little  distance.  She  did  in  fact  take 
one  or  two  steps  in  that  direction,  but  thinking 
almost  immediately  that  it  would  be  foolish  to 
do  so,  she  returned  to  the  same  side  of  the  road 
and  walked  on.  Albert  walked  slowly  along 


THE   BRIDE.  33 


Their  conversation. 


towards   Mary   Erskine,   until  at   length  they 
met. 

"  Good  evening,  Mary  Erskine,"  said  Albert. 

"  Good  evening,  Albert,"  said  Mary  Erskine, 

Albert  turned  and  began  to  walk  along  slow!}', 
by  Mary  Erskine's  side. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  here  for  you  more  than 
two  hours,"  said  Albert. 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Mary  Erskine.  Her  heart 
began  to  beat,  and  she  was  afraid  to  say  any 
thing  more,  for  fear  that  her  voice  would  tremble. 

"  Yes,"  said  Albert.  "  1  saw  you  go  to  the 
village,  and  1  wanted  to  speak  to  you  when  you 
came  back." 

Mary  Erskine  walked  along,  but  did  not 
speak 

"  And  1  have  been  waiting  and  watching 
two  months  for  you  to  go  to  the  village,"  con 
tinued  Albert. 

"  I  have  not  been  much  to  the  village,  lately," 
said  Mary. 

Here  there  was  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes 
v\  hen  Albert  said  again, 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  my  walking 
along  with  you  here  a  little  way,  Mary  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mary,  "  not  at  all." 

"Mary,"   said    Albert,    after    another   short 

n 


84  MARY£RSKINE. 

The  proposal.  Mrs.  Bell's  stoop. 

pause,  "  I  have  got  a  hundred  dollars  and  my  axe, 
— and  this  right  arm,  I  am  thinking  of  buying 
a  lot  of  land,  about  a  mile  beyond  Kater's 
corner.  If  I  will  do  it,  and  build  a  small  house 
of  one  room  there,  will  you  come  and  be  my 
wife  ?  It  will  have  to  be  a  log  house  at  first." 

Mary  Erskine  related  subsequently  to  Mary 
Bell  what  took  place  at  this  interview,  thus  far, 
but  she  would  never  tell  the  rest. 

It  was  evident,  however,  that  Mary  Erskine 
was  inclined  to  accept  this  proposal,  from  a  con 
versation  which  took  place  between  her  and 
Mrs.  Bell  the  next  evening.  It  was  after  tea. 
The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  the  evening  was 
beautiful.  Mrs.  Bell  was  sitting  in  a  low  rock 
ing-chair,  on  a  little  covered  platform,  near  the 
door,  which  they  called  the  stoop.  There  were 
two  seats,  one  on  each  side  of  the  stoop,  and 
there  was  a  vine  climbing  over  it.  Mrs.  Bell 
was  knitting.  Mary  Bell,  who  was  then  about 
six  years  old,  was  playing  about  the  yard, 
watching  the  butterflies,  and  gathering  floweis. 

"  You  may  stay  here  and  play  a  little  while 
said  Mary  Erskine  to  Mary  Bell.     "  I  am  going 
to  talk  with  your  mother  a  little  ;  but  I  shall 
be  back  again  pretty  soon." 

Mary  Erskine  accordingly  went  to  the  stoop 


THE  BRIDE.  35 

Mar>  Erskine  asks  Mrs.  Bell's  advice. 

where  Mrs.  Bell  was  sitting,  and  took  a  seat 
upon  the  bench  at  the  side  of  Mrs.  Bell,  though 
rather  behind  than  before  her.  There  was  a 
railing  along  behind  the  seat,  at  the  edge  of  the 
stoop  and  a  large  white  rose-bush,  covered  with 
roses,  upon  the  other  side. 

Mrs.  Bell  perceived  from  Mary  Erskine's  air 
and  manner  that  she  had  something  to  say  to 
her,  so  after  remarking  that  it  was  a  very  pleas 
ant  evening,  she  went  on  knitting,  waiting  for 
Mary  Erskine  to  begin. 

"  Mrs.  Bell,"  said  Mary. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 

The  trouble  was  that  Mary  Erskine  did  not 
know  exactly  how  to  begin. 

She  paused  a  moment  longer  and  then 
making  a  great  effort  she  said, 

"  Albert  wants  me  to  go  and  live  with  him." 

"  Does  he  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bell.  "  And  where 
does  he  want  you  to  go  and  live  ?" 

"He  is  thinking  of  buying  a  farm,"  said 
Mary  Erskine. 

"Where?"  said  Mrs.  Bell, 

"  I  believe  the  land  is  about  a  mile  from  Ka« 
ter's  corner." 

Mrs.  Bell  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  She 
was  pondering  the  thought  now  for  tho  first 


36  MARYERSKINE. 


Mrs.  Bell's  reflections. 


time  fairly  before  her  mind,  that  the  little  help 
less  orphan  child  that  she  had  taken  under  her 
care  so  many  years  ago,  had  really  grown  to  be 
a  woman,  and  must  soon,  if  not  then,  begin  to 
form  her  own  independent  plans  of  life.  She 
looked  at  little  Mary  Bell  too,  playing  upon  the 
grass,  and  wondered  what  she  would  do  when 
Mary  Erskine  was  gone. 

After  a  short  pause  spent  in  reflections  like 
these,  Mrs.  Bell  resumed  the  conversation  by 
saying, 

"  Well,  Mary, — and  what  do  you  think  of 
the  plan  ?" 

"  Why — I  don't  know,"  said  Mary  Erskine, 
timidly  and  doubtfully. 

"  You  are  very  young,"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "I  always  was 
very  young.  I  was  very  young  when  my  fa 
ther  died;  and  afterwards,  when  my  mother 
died,  I  was  very  young  to  be  left  all  alone,  and 
to  go  out  to  work  and  earn  my  living.  And 
now  I  am  very  young,  I  know.  But  then  I  am 
eighteen." 

"  Are  you  eighteen  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  was  eighteen 
the  day  before  yesterday." 

"It  is  a  lonesome  place, — out  beyond  Ka 


THE   BRIDE.  37 


Objections.  The  end  of  the  consultation. 

ter's  Corner,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  after  another 
pause. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  I  am  not 
afraid  of  lonesomeness.  I  never  cared  about 
seeing  a  great  many  people." 

"  And  you  will  have  to  work  very  hard,"  con 
tinued  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  I  know  that,"  replied  Mary ;  "  but  then  I 
am  not  afraid  of  work  any  more  than  I  am  of 
lonesomeness.  I  began  to  work  when  I  was 
five  years  old,  and  I  have  worked  ever  since, — 
and  I  like  it." 

"Then,  besides,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do  with  my  Mary  when  you 
have  gone  away.  You  have  had  the  care  of 
her  ever  since  she  was  born." 

Mary  Erskine  did  not  reply  to  this.  She 
turned  her  head  away  farther  and  farther  from 
Mrs.  Bell,  looking  over  the  railing  of  the  stoop 
toward  the  white  roses.  In  a  minute  or  two 
she  got  up  suddenly  from  her  seat,  and  still 
keeping  her  face  averted  from  Mrs.  Bell,  she 
went  in  by  the  stoop  door  into  the  house,  and 
disappeared.  In  about  ten  minutes  she  came 
round  the  corner  of  the  house,  at  the  place  where 
Mary  Bell  was  playing,  and  with  a  radiant  and 
happy  face,  and  tones  as  joyous  as  ever,  she 


38  MARYERSKINE. 

Albert's  farm.  He  commences  operations, 

told  her  little  charge  that  they  would  have  one 
game  of  hide  and  go  seek,  in  the  asparagus, 
and  that  then  it  would  be  time  for  her  to  go  to 
bed. 

Two  days  after  this,  Albert  closed  the  bar 
gain  for  his  land,  and  began  his  work  upon  it. 
The  farm,  or  rather  the  lot,  for  the  farm  was 
yet  to  be  made,  consisted  of  a  hundred  and  sixty 
acres  of  land,  all  in  forest.  A  great  deal  of  the 
land  was  mountainous  and  rocky,  fit  only  for 
woodland  and  pasturage.  There  were,  how 
ever,  a  great  many  fertile  vales  and  dells,  and 
at  one  place  along  the  bank  of  a  stream,  there 
was  a  broad  tract  which  Albert  thought  would 
make,  when  the  trees  were  felled  and  it  was 
brought  into  grass,  a  "  beautiful  piece  of  inter 
vale/' 

Albert  commenced  his  operations  by  felling 
several  acres  of  trees,  on  a  part  of  his  lot  which 
was  nearest  the  corner.  A  road,  which  had 
been  laid  out  through  the  woods,  led  across  his 
land  near  this  place.  The  trees  and  bushes  had 
been  cut  away  so  as  to  open  a  space  wide 
enough  for  a  sled  road  in  winter.  In  summer 
there  was  nothing  but  a  wild  path,  winding 
among  rocks,  stumps,  trunks  of  fallen  trees,  and 
other  forest  obstructions.  A  person  on  foot  could 


THE   BRIDE.  «*9 


Albert's  clearing.  The  conflagration. 


get  along  very  well,  and  even  a  horse  with  a 
rider  upon  his  back,  but  there  was  no  chance 
for  any  thing  on  wheels.  Albert  said  that  il 
would  not  be  possible  to  get  even  a  wheelbar 
row  in. 

Albert,  however,  took  great  pleasure  in  going 
back  and  forth  over  this  road,  morning  and 
evening,  with  his  axe  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a 
pack  upon  his  back  containing  his  dinner,  while 
felling  his  trees.  When  they  were  all  down,  he 
left  them  for  some  weeks  drying  in  the  sun,  and 
then  set  them  on  fire.  He  chose  for  the  burn 
ing,  the  afternoon  of  a  hot  and  sultry  day,  when 
a  fresh  breeze  was  blowing  from  the  west,  which 
he  knew  would  fan  the  flames  and  increase  the 
conflagration.  It  was  important  to  do  this,  as 
the  amount  of  subsequent  labor  which  he  would 
have  to  perform,  would  depend  upon  how  com 
pletely  the  trees  were  consumed.  His  fire  suc 
ceeded  beyond  his  most  sanguine  expectations, 
and  the  next  day  he  brought  Mary  Erskine  in 
to  see  what  a  "  splendid  burn"  he  had  had,  and 
!o  choose  a  spot  for  the  log  house  which  he  was 
j;oing  to  build  for  her. 

Mary  Erskine  was  extremely  pleased  with 
the  appearance  of  Albert's  clearing.  The  area 
which  had  been  opened  ascended  a  \ittle  from 


40  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine  comes  to  see  it.  The  pood, 

the  road,  and  presented  a  gently  undulating 
surface,  which  Mary  Erskine  thought  would 
make  very  beautiful  fields.  It  was  now,  how 
ever,  one  vast  expanse  of  blackened  and  smok 
ing  ruins. 

Albert  conducted  Mary  Erskine  and  Mary 
Bell — for  Mary  Bell  had  come  in  with  them  to 
see  the  fire, — to  a  little  eminence  from  which 
they  could  survey  the  whole  scene. 

"  Look,"  said  he,  "  is  not  that  beautiful  ?  Did 
you  ever  see  a  better  burn  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  burns,"  said  Mary 
Erskine,  "  but  I  can  see  that  it  will  be  a  beau 
tiful  place  for  a,  farm.  Why  we  can  see  the 
pond,"  she  added,  pointing  toward  the  south. 

This  was  true.  The  falling  of  the  trees  had 
opened  up  a  fine  view  of  the  pond,  which  was 
distant  about  a  mile  from  the  clearing.  There 
was  a  broad  stream  which  flowed  swiftly  over 
a  gravelly  bed  along  the  lower  part  of  the 
ground,  and  a  wild  brook  which  came  tum 
bling  down  from  the  mountains,  and  then,  after 
running  across  the  road,  fell  into  the  larger 
stream,  not  far  from  the  corner  of  the  farm. 
The  brook  and  the  stream  formed  two  sides  of 
the  clearing.  Beyond  them,  and  along  the  other 
two  sides  of  the  clearing,  the  tall  trees  of  those 


THE  BRIDE.  41 


Choosing  a  spot  for  the  house. 


parts  of  the  forest  which  had  not  been  disturbed, 
rose  like  a  wall  and  hemmed  the  opening  close- 
I)  in. 

Albert  and  Mary  Erskine  walked  along  the 
oad  through  the  whole  length  of  the  clearing, 
coking  out  for  the  best  place  to  build  their  house. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  lonesome  here  this  win 
ter,  Mary,"  said  Albert.  "  I  don't  know  but 
that  you  would  rather  wait  till  next  spring." 

Mary  Erskine  hesitated  about  her  reply.  She 
did,  in  fact,  wish  to  come  to  her  new  home  that 
fall,  and  she  thought  it  was  proper  that  she 
should  express  the  cordial  interest  which  she 
felt  in  Albert's  plans  ; — but,  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  did  not  like  to  say  any  thing  which 
might  seem  to  indicate  a  wish  on  her  part  to  has 
ten  the  time  of  their  marriage.  So  she  said 
doubtfully, — "  I  don't  know ; — I  don't  think  that 
it  would  be  lonesome." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Albert,"  said  Mary 
Hell,  "  about  Mary  Erskine's  coming  to  live 
here  ?  She  can't  come  and  live  here,  among  all 
these  black  stumps  and  logs." 

Albert  and  Mary  Erskine  were  too  intent 
upon  their  own  thoughts  and  plans  to  pay  any 
attention  to  Mary  Bell's  questions.  So  they 
walked  along  without  answering  her. 


42  MARYERBKINE. 


The  work  of  the  winter.  Prospect*. 

"What  could  we  have  to  do  this  fall  and 
winter  ?"  asked  Mary  Erskine.  She  wished  to 
ascertain  whether  she  could  do  any  good  by 
coming  at  once,  or  whether  it  would  be  better, 
for  Albert's  plans,  to  wait  until  the  spring. 

"  Oh  there  will  be  plenty  to  do,"  said  Albert. 
"  I  shall  have  to  work  a  great  deal,  while  the 
ground  continues  open,  in  clearing  up  the  land, 
and  getting  it  ready  for  sowing  in  the  spring ; 
and  it  will  be  a  great  deal  better  for  me  to  live 
here,  in  order  to  save  my  traveling  back  and 
forth,  so  far,  every  night  and  morning.  Then 
this  winter  I  shall  have  my  tools  to  make, — and 
to  finish  the  inside  of  the  house,  and  make  the 
furniture  ;  and  if  you  have  any  leisure  time  you 
can  spin.  But  after  all  it  will  not  be  very  com 
fortable  for  you,  and  perhaps  you  would  rather 
wait  until  spring." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I  would  rather 
come  this  fall." 

"  Well/'  rejoined  Albert,  speaking  in  a  tone 
of  great  satisfaction.  "  Then  I  will  get  the 
house  up  next  week,  and  we  will  be  married 
very  soon  after." 

There  were  very  few  young  men  whose  pros 
pects  in  commencing  life  were  so  fair  and 
favorable  as  those  of  Albert.  In  the  first  place, 


THE   BRIDE.  43 


Albert's  finances, — Mary  Erskine's.  Furniture. 

•ie  was  not  obliged  to  incur  any  debt  on  account 
of  his  land,  as  most  young  farmers  necessarily 
do.  His  land  was  one  dollar  an  acre.  He  had 
DIIC  hundred  dollars  of  his  own,  and  enough  be 
sides  to  buy  a  winter  stock  of  provisions  for  his 
house.  He  had  expected  to  have  gone  in  debt 
for  the  sixty  dollars,  the  whole  price  of  the  land 
being  one  hundred  and  sixty ;  but  to  his  great 
surprise  and  pleasure  Mary  Erskine  told  him, 
as  they  were  coming  home  from  seeing  the 
land  after  the  burn,  that  she  had  seventy-five 
dollars  of  her  own,  besides  interest ;  and  that 
she  should  like  to  have  sixty  dollars  of  that  sum 
go  toward  paying  for  the  land.  The  fifteen 
dollars  that  would  be  left,  she  said,  would  be 
enough  to  buy  the  furniture. 

"  I  don't  think  that  will  be  quite  enough," 
said  Albert. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  We  shall  not 
want  a  great  deal.  We  shall  want  a  table  and 
two  chairs,  and  some  things  to  cook  with." 

"  And  a  bed,"  said  Albert. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  I  can  make 
that  myself.  The  cloth  will  not  cost  much,  and 
you  can  get  some  straw  for  me.  Next  summer 
we  can  keep  some  geese,  and  so  have  a  feather 
bed  some  day." 


44  MARYERSKINE. 


Albert  and  his  companions  build  the  house. 

"  We  shall  want  some  knives  and  forks,  ant 
plates,"  said  Albert. 

c<  Yes/'  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  they  wil 
not  cost  much.  I  think  fifteen  dollars  will  ge 
us  all  we  need.  Besides  there  is  more  than  fif 
teen  dollars,  for  there  is  the  interest." 

The  money  had  been  put  out  at  interest  in 
the  village. 

"  Well,"  said  Albert,  "  and  I  can  make  the 
rest  of  the  furniture  that  we  shall  need,  this 
winter.  I  shall  have  a  shop  near  the  house.  I 
have  got  the  tools  already." 

Thus  all  was  arranged.  Albert  built  his 
house  on  the  spot  which  Mary  Erskine  thought 
would  be  the  most  pleasant  for  it,  the  week  after 
her  visit  to  the  land.  Three  young  men  from 
the  neighborhood  assisted  him,  as  is  usual  in 
such  cases,  on  the  understanding  that  Albert 
was  to  help  each  of  them  as  many  days  about 
their  work  as  they  worked  for  him.  This  plan 
is  often  adopted  by  farmers  in  doing  work  which 
absolutely  requires  several  men  at  a  time,  as  for 
example,  the  raising  of  heavy  logs  one  upon  an 
other  to  form  the  walls  of  a  house.  In  order  to 
obtain  logs  for  the  building  Albert  and  his  help 
ers  cut  down  fresh  trees  from  the  forest,  as  the 
blackened  and  half-burned  trunks,  which  lav 


THE    BRIDE.  45 


Mary  Erskine's  bright  anticipations. 


about  his  clearing,  were  of  course  unsuitable  for 
such  a  work.  They  selected  the  tallest  and 
straightest  trees,  and  after  felling  them  and  cut 
ting  them  to  the  proper  length,  they  hauled 
fhem  to  the  spot  by  means  of  oxen.  The 
ground  served  for  a  floor,  and  the  fire-place  was 
made  of  stones.  The  roof  was  formed  of  shee <.s 
of  hemlock  bark,  laid,  like  slates  upon  rafters 
made  of  the  stems  of  slender  trees.  Albert 
promised  Mary  Erskine  that,  as  soon  as  the 
snow  came,  in  the  winter,  to  make  a  road,  so 
that  he  could  get  through  the  woods  with  a  load 
of  boards  upon  a  sled,  he  would  make  her  a 
floor. 

From  this  time  forward,  although  Mary  Er 
skine  was  more  diligent  and  faithful  than  ever 
in  performing  all  her  duties  at  Mrs.  Bell's,  her 
imagination  was  incessantly  occupied  with  pic 
tures  and  images  of  the  new  scenes  into  which 
she  was  about  to  be  ushered  as  the  mistress  of 
her  own  independent  household  and  home.  She 
made  out  lists,  mentally,  for  she  could  not 
write,  of  the  articles  which  it  would  be  best  to 
purchase.  She  formed  and  matured  in  her  own 
mind  all  her  housekeeping  plans.  She  pictured 
to  herself  the  scene  which  the  interior  of  her 
dwelling  would  present  in  cold  and  stormy 


40 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Anticipations  of  happiness. 


The  house  finished. 


winter  evenings,  while  she  was  knitting  at  one 
side  of  the  fire,  and  Albert  was  busy  at  some 
ingenious  workmanship,  on  the  other ;  01 
thought  of  the  beautiful  prospect  which  she 
should  enjoy  in  the  spring  and  summer  follow 
ing  ;  when  fields  of  waving  grain,  rich  with 
promises  of  plenty  and  of  wealth,  would  extend 
in  every  direction  around  her  dwelling.  She 
cherished,  in  a  word,  the  brightest  anticipations 
of  happiness. 


THE   LOG   HOUSE. 


The  house  at  length  was  finished.     The  ne- 


BRIDE.  4? 


ces»ary  furniture  which  Albert  contrived  in 
some  way  to  get  moved  to  it,  was  put  in  ;  and 
early  in  August  Mary  Erskine  was  married. 
She  was  married  in  the  morning,  and  a  party 
of  the  villagers  escorted  her  on  horseback  to  nei 
new  home. 


48  MARYERSKINE. 


The  fc.Vvy>.  •<  of  the  house.  The  brook. 


CHAPTER     III. 
M  %  R  Y    ERSKINE'S    VISITOES. 

Mary  Erskine's  anticipations  of  happiness  in 
b\  ing  th  mistress  of  her  own  independent  home 
were  ve  r  high,  but  they  were  more  than  rea 
lized. 

The  ]  -ace  which  had  been  chosen  for  the 
house  w;,  \  not  only  a  suitable  one  in  respect  to 
convenie  ice,  but  it  was  a  very  pleasant  one.  It 
was  nea,i  the  brook  which,  as  has  already  been 
said,  car  ie  cascading  down  from  among  the 
forests  £  nd  mountains,  and  passing  along  near 
one  side  of  Albert's  clearing,  flowed  across  the 
road,  and  finally  emptied  into  the  great  stream. 
The  house  was  placed  near  the  brook,  in  order 
that  Aloert  might  have  a  watering-place  at 
hand  fo:  his  horses  and  cattle  when  he  should 
have  stocked  his  farm.  In  felling  the  forest 
Albert  !eft  a  fringe  of  trees  along  the  banks  of 
the  brook,  that  it  might  be  cool  and  shad)  there 
when  the  cattle  went  down  to  drink  There 
was  a  spring  of  pure  cold  water  boiling  up  from 
beneath  some  rocks  not  far  from  the  brook,  on 


MARY   EESKINE  s   VISITORS.        49 

The  rivulet.  Albert's  path  to  the  spring. 

the  side  toward  the  clearing.  The  water  from 
this  spring  flowed  down  along  a  little  mossy 
dell,  until  it  reached  the  brook.  The  bed  over 
which  this  little  rivulet  flowed  was  stony,  and 
yet  no  stones  were  to  be  seen.  They  all  had 
the  appearance  of  rounded  tufts  of  soft  green 
rnoss,  so  completely  were  they  all  covered  and 
hidden  by  the  beautiful  verdure. 

Albert  was  very  much  pleased  when  he  dis 
covered  this  spring,  and  traced  its  little  mossy 
rivulet  down  to  the  brook.  He  thought  that 
Mary  Erskine  would  like  it.  So  he  avoided 
cutting  down  any  of  the  trees  from  the  dell, 
or  from  around  the  spring,  and  in  cutting  down 
those  which  grew  near  it,  he  took  care  to  make 
them  fall  away  from  the  dell,  so  that  in  burning 
they  should  not  injure  the  trees  which  he  wished 
to  save.  Thus  that  part  of  the  wood  which 
shaded  and  sheltered  the  spring  and  the  dell, 
escaped  the  fire. 

The  house  was  placed  in  such  a  position  that 
this  spring  was  directly  behind  it,  and  Albert 
made  a  smooth  and  pretty  path  leading  down  to 
it ;  or  rather  he  made  the  path  smooth,  and  na 
ture  made  it  pretty.  For  no  sooner  had  he 
completed  his  work  upon  it  than  nature  began 
to  adorn  it  by  a  profusion  of  the  behest  and 
D 


50  M  A  U  V    K  R  S  K  I  N  E 

Hie  embellishments  of  nature. 

greenest  grass  and  flowers,  which  she  caused  tc 
spring  up  on  either  side.  It  was  so  in  fact  in 
all  Albert's  operations  upon  his  farm.  Almost 
every  thing  that  he  did  was  for  some  purpose 
of  convenience  and  utility,  and  he  himself  un 
dertook  nothing  more  than  was  necessary  tc  se 
cure  the  useful  end.  But  his  kind  and  playful 
co-operator,  nature,  would  always  take  up  the 
work  where  he  left  it,  and  begin  at  once  to  beau- 
tify  it  with  her  rich  and  luxuriant  verdure.  For 
example,  as  soon  as  the  fires  went  out  over  the 
clearing,  she  began,  with  her  sun  and  rain,  tc 
blanch  the  blackened  stumps,  and  to  gnaw  at 
their  foundations,  with  her  tooth  of  decay.  If 
Albert  made  a  road  or  a  path  she  rounded  its 
angles,  softened  away  all  the  roughness  that  his 
plow  or  hoe  had  left  in  it,  and  fringed  it  with 
grass  and  flowers.  The  solitary  and  slender 
trees  which  had  been  left  standing  here  and 
there  around  the  clearing,  having  escaped  the 
fire,  she  took  under  her  special  care — throwing 
out  new  and  thrifty  branches  from  them,  in  every 
direction,  and  thus  giving  them  massive  and 
luxuriant  forms,  to  beautify  the  landscape,  and 
to  form  shady  retreats  for  the  flocks  and  herds 
which  might  in  subsequent  years  graze  upon 
the  ground.  Thus  while  Albert  devoted  him- 


MARY   ERSKINE'S    VISITORS.         51 


Mary  Erskine  in  her  new  home.  Albert's  shop. 

self  to  the  substantial  and  useful  improvements 
which  were  required  upon  his  farm,  with  a  view 
simply  to  profit,  nature  took  the  work  of  orna 
menting  it  under  her  own  special  and  particular 
charge. 

The  sphere  of  Mary  Erskine's  duties  and 
pleasures  was  \vithin  doors.  Her  conveniences 
for  housekeeping  were  somewhat  limited  at 
first,  but  Albert,  who  kept  himself  busy  at  work 
on  his  land  all  day,  spent  the  evenings  in  his 
shanty  shop,  making  various  household  imple 
ments  and  articles  of  furniture  for  her.  Mary 
sat  with  him,  usually,  at  such  times,  knitting  by 
the  side  of  the  great,  blazing  fire,  made  partly 
for  the  sake  of  the  light  that  it  afforded,  arid 
partly  for  the  warmth,  which  was  required  to 
temper  the  coolness  of  the  autumnal  evenings. 
Mary  took  a  very  special  interest  in  the  pro 
gress  of  Albert's  work,  every  thing  which  he 
made  being  for  her.  Each  new  acquisition,  as 
one  article  after  another  was  completed  and 
delivered  into  her  possession,  gave  her  fresh 
pleasure :  and  she  deposited  it  in  its  proper 
place  in  her  house  with  a  feeling  of  great  satis 
faction  and  pride. 

"  Mary  Erskine,"  said  Albert  one  evening — 
for  though  she  was  married,  and  her  name  thus 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine's  prudence. 


really  changed,  Albert  himself,  as  well  as  every 
body  else,  went  on  calling  her  Mary  Erskine 
just  as  before  —  "  it  is  rather  hard  to  make  you 
wait  so  long  for  these  conveniences,  especially 
as  there  is  no  necessity  for  it.  We  need  not 
have  paid  for  our  land  this  three  years.  I 
might  have  taken  the  money  and  built  a  hand 
some  house,  and  furnished  it  for  you  at  once." 

"  And  so  have  been  in  debt  for  the  land,"  said 
Mary. 

"  Yes,"  said  Albert.  "  I  could  have  paid  off 
that  debt  by  the  profits  of  the  farming  I  can 
lay  up  a  hundred  dollars  a  year,  certainly." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I  like  this  plan 
the  best.  We  will  pay  as  we  go  along.  It 
will  be  a  great  deal  better  to  have  the  three 
hundred  dollars  for  something  else  than  to  pay 
old  debts  with.  We  will  build  a  better  house 
than  this  if  we  want  one,  one  of  these  years, 
when  we  get  the  money.  But  I  like  this  house 
very  much  as  it  is.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  only 
Because  it  is  my  own." 

It  was  not  altogether  the  idea  that  it  was  her 
own  that  made  Mary  Erskine  like  her  house. 
The  interior  of  it  was  very  pleasant  indeed,  es 
pecially  after  Albert  had  completed  the  furnish- 
'ng  of  it,  and  had  laid  the  floor.  It  contained 


MARY  ERSKINE'S   VISITORS.         53 

The  interior  of  the  log  house. 

but  one  room,  it  is  true,  but  that  was  a  very 
spacious  one.  There  were,  in  fact,  two  apart 
ments  enclosed  by  the  walls  and  the  roof,  though 
only  one  of  them  could  strictly  be  called  a 
room.  The  other  wras  rather  a  shed,  or  stoop, 
and  it  was  entered  from  the  front  by  a  wide 
opening,  like  a  great  shed  door.  The  entrance 
to  the  house  proper  was  by  a  door  opening  from 
this  stoop,  so  as  to  be  sheltered  from  the  storms 
in  winter.  There  was  a  very  large  fire-place 
made  of  stones  in  the  middle  of  one  side  of  the 
room,  with  a  large  flat  stone  for  a  hearth  in 
front  of  it.  This  hearth  stone  was  very  smooth, 
and  Mary  Erskine  kept  it  always  very  bright, 
and  clean.  On  one  side  of  the  fire  was  what 
they  called  a  settle,  which  was  a  long  wooden 
seat  with  a  very  high  back.  It  was  placed  on 
the  side  of  the  fire  toward  the  door,  so  that 
it  answered  the  purpose  of  a  screen  to  keep  off 
any  cold  currents  of  air,  which  might  come  in 
on  blustering  winter  nights,  around  the  door. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  fire  was  a  small  and 
very  elegant  mahogany  work  table.  This  was 
a  present  to  Mary  Erskine  from  Mrs.  Bell  on 
the  day  of  her  marriage.  There  were  drawers 
•n  this  table  containing  sundry  conveniences. 
The  upper  drawer  was  made  to  answer  the  pur- 


64  MARY  ERSKINE. 


The  work  table.  The  window. 


pose  of  a  desk,  and  it  had  an  inkstand  in  a 
small  division  in  one  corner.  Mrs.  Bell  had 
thought  of  taking  this  inkstand  out,  and  putting 
in  some  spools,  or  something  else  which  Mary 
Erskine  would  be  able  to  use.  But  Mary  her 
self  would  not  allow  her  to  make  such  a  change. 
She  said  it  was  true  that  she  could  not  write, 
but  that  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not 
have  an  inkstand.  So  she  filled  the  inkstand 
with  ink,  and  furnished  the  desk  completely  in 
other  respects,  by  putting  in  six  sheets  of  paper, 
a  pen,  and  several  wafers.  The  truth  was,  she 
thought  it  possible  that  an  occasion  might  arise 
some  time  or  other,  at  which  Albert  might  wish 
to  write  a  letter;  and  if  such  a  case  should 
occur,  it  would  give  her  great  pleasure  to  have 
him  write  his  letter  at  her  desk. 

Beyond  the  work  table,  on  one  of  the  sides 
of  the  room,  was  a  cupboard,  and  next  to  the 
cupboard  a  large  window.  This  was  the  only 
window  in  the  house,  and  it  had  a  sash  which 
would  rise  and  fall.  Mary  Erskine  had  made 
white  curtains  for  this  window,  which  could  be 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  hung  up  upon  nails 
driven  into  the  logs  which  formed  the  wall  of 
the  house,  one  on  each  side.  Of  what  use  these 
curtains  could  be  except  to  make  the  room  look 


MARY   I^RSKINE'S   VISITORS.        55 


The  furniture  of  Mary  Erskine's  house. 


more  snug  and  pleasant  within,  it  would  be  dif 
ficult  to  say ;  for  there  was  only  one  vast  ex 
panse  of  forests  and  mountains  on  that  side  of 
the  house,  so  that  there  was  nobody  to  look  in. 

On  the  back  side  of  the  room,  in  one  corner, 
was  the  bed.  It  was  supported  upon  a  bedstead 
which  Albert  had  made.  The  bedstead  had 
high  posts,  and  was  covered,  like  the  window, 
with  curtains.  In  the  other  corner  was  the 
place  for  the  loom,  with  the  spinning-wheel 
between  the  loom  and  the  bed.  When  Mary 
Erskine  was  using  the  spinning-wheel,  she 
brought  it  out  into  the  center  of  the  room. 
The  loom  was  not  yet  finished.  Albert  was 
building  it,  working  upon  it  from  time  to  time 
as  he  had  opportunity.  The  frame  of  it  was 
up,  and  some  of  the  machinery  was  made. 

Mary  Erskine  kept  most  of  her  clothes  in  a 
trunk ;  but  Albert  was  making  her  a  bureau. 

Instead  of  rinding  it  lonesome  at  her  new 
nome,  as  Mrs.  Bell  had  predicted,  Mary  Erskine 
ftad  plenty  of  company.  The  girls  from  the 
village,  whom  she  used  to  know,  were  very 
fond  of  coming  out  to  see  her.  Many  of  them 
were  much  younger  than  she  was,  and  they 
loved  to  ramble  about  in  the  woods  around 
Mary  Erskine's  house,  and  to  play  along  the 


56  MARYERSKINE. 

Mary  Bell's  visits.  The  working  frock, 

bank  of  the  brook.  Mary  used  to  show  them 
too,  every  time  they  came,  the  new  articles 
which  Albert  had  made  for  her,  and  to  explain 
to  them  the  gradual  progress  of  the  improve- 
ments.  Mary  Bell  herself  was  very  fond  of 
going  to  see  Mary  Erskine, — though  she  was 
of  course  at  that  time  too  young  to  go  alone. 
Sometimes  however  Mrs.  Bell  would  send  her 
out  in  the  morning  and  let  her  remain  all  day, 
playing,  very  happily,  around  the  door  and 
down  by  the  spring.  She  used  to  play  all  day 
among  the  logs  and  stumps,  and  upon  the  sandy 
beach  by  the  side  of  the  brook,  and  yet  when 
she  went  home  at  night  she  always  looked  as 
nice,  and  her  clothes  were  as  neat  and  as 
clean  as  when  she  went  in  the  morning.  Mrs. 
Bell  wondered  at  this,  and  on  observing  that  it 
continued  to  be  so,  repeatedly,  after  several 
visits,  she  asked  Mary  Bell  how  it  happened 
that  Mary  Erskine  kept  her  so  nice. 

'•  Oh,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  I  always  put  on  my 
working  frock  when  I  go  out  to  Mary  Erskine's." 

The  working  frock  was  a  plain,  loose  woolen 
dress,  which  Mary  Erskine  made  for  Mary  Bell, 
and  which  Mary  Bell  always  put  on  in  the  morn 
ing,  whenever  she  came  to  the  farm.  Her  own 
dress  was  taken  off  and  laid  carefully  away 


MART  EKSKINE'S  VISITORS.        57 

Mary  Bell's  play-grounds.  The  oven. 

upon  the  bed,  under  the  curtains.  Her  shoes 
and  stockings  were  taken  off  too,  so  that  she 
might  play  in  the  brook  if  she  pleased,  though 
Mary  Erskine  told  her  it  was  not  best  to  re 
main  in  the  water  long  enough  to  have  her  feet 
get  very  cold. 

When  Mary  Bell  was  dressed  thus  in  hei 
working  frock,  she  was  allowed  to  play  wher 
ever  she  pleased,  so  that  she  enjoyed  almost  an 
absolute  and  unbounded  liberty.  And  yet  there 
were  some  restrictions.  She  must  not  go  across 
the  brook,  for  fear  that  she  might  get  lost  in  the 
woods,  nor  go  out  of  sight  of  the  house  in  any 
direction.  She  might  build  fires  upon  any  of 
the  stumps  or  logs,  but  not  within  certain  lim 
its  of  distance  from  the  house,  lest  she  should 
set  the  house  on  fire.  And  she  must  not  touch 
the  axe,  for  fear  that  she  might  cut  herself,  nor 
climb  upon  the  wood-pile,  for  fear  that  it  might 
fall  down  upon  her.  With  some  such  restric 
tions  as  these,  she  could  do  whatever  she  pleased. 

She  was  very  much  delighted,  one  morning 
in  September,  when  she  was  playing  around 
the  house  in  her  working  frock,  at  finding  a 
great  hole  or  hollow  under  a  stump,  which  she 
immediately  resolved  to  have  for  her  oven. 
She  was  sitting  down  upon  the  ground  by  the 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


The  spinning-wheel.  Mary  Erskine's  disobedience. 


side  of  it,  and  she  began  to  call  out  as  loud  as 
she  could, 

"  Mary  Erskine  !  Mary  Erskine  !" 

But  Mary  Erskine  did  not  answer.     Mary 
Bell  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  spinning-wheel 
in  the  house,  and  she  wondered  why  the  spin 
ner  could  not  hear  her,  when  she  called  so  loud. 

She  listened,  watching  for  the  pauses  in  the 
buzzing  sound  of  the  wheel,  and  endeavored  to 
call  out  in  the  pauses, — but  with  no  better  suc 
cess  than  before.  At  last  she  got  up  and  walked 
along  toward  the  house,  swinging  in  her  hand  a 
small  wooden  shovel,  which  Albert  had  made  for 
her  to  dig  wells  with  in  the  sand  on  the  margin 
of  the  brook. 

"  Mary  Erskine!"  said  she,  when  she  got  to 
the  door  of  the  house,  "didn't  you  hear  me 
calling  for  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Then  why  did  not  you  come  ?"  said  Mary 
Bell. 

"  Because  I  was  disobedient,"  said  Mary  Er 
skine,  "  and  now  I  suppose  I  must  be  punished." 

'•'  Well,"  said  Mary  Bell.  The  expression  of 
dissatisfaction  and  reproof  upon  Mary  Bell's 
countenance  was  changed  immediately  into  one 
of  surprise  and  pleasure,  at  the  idea  of  Mary 


MARY   ERSKINE'S  VISITORS.        5U 

Mary  Bell's  fire-pan. 

Erskine's  being  punished   for  disobeying   her 
So  she  said, 

"  Well.  And  what  shall  your  punishment  be  ?' 

"  What  did  you  want  me  for  ?"  asked  Mar) 
Erskine. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  my  oven." 

"  Have  you  got  an  oven  ?"  asked  Mary  Er 
skine. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  Bell.  "It  is  under  a 
stump.  I  have  got  some  wood,  and  now  1 
wrant  some  fire." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "get  your 
fire-pan." 

Mary  Bell's  fire-pan,  was  an  old  tin  dipper 
with  a  long  handle.  It  had  been  worn  out  as  a 
dipper,  and  so  they  used  to  let  Mary  Bell  have 
it  to  carry  her  fire  in.  There  were  several 
small  holes  in  the  bottom  of  the  dipper,  so  com 
pletely  was  it  worn  out:  but  this  made  it  all 
the  better  for  a  fire-pan,  since  the  air  which 
came  up  through  the  holes,  fanned  the  coals 
^am*  kept  them  alive.  This  dipper  was  very 
valuable,  too,  for  another  purpose.  Mary  Bell 
was  accustomed,  sometimes,  to  go  down  to  the 
brook  and  dip  up  water  with  it,  in  order  to  see 
the  water  stream  down  into  the  brook  again, 
through  these  holes,  in  a  sort  of  a  shower. 


60  MARY  ERS KIN E. 

Mary  Bell  builds  a,  fire  in  her  oven. 

Mary  Bell  went,  accordingly,  for  her  fire-pan, 
which  she  found  in  its  place  in  the  open  stoop 
or  shed.  She  came  into  the  house,  and  Mary 
Erskine,  raking  open  the  ashes  in  the  fire-place; 
took  out  two  .arge  coals  with  the  tongs,  and 
dropped  them  into  the  dipper.  Mary  Bell  held 
the  dipper  at  arm's  length  before  her,  and  be 
gan  to  walk  along. 

"  Hold  it  out  upon  one  side,"  said  Mary  Er 
skine,  "  and  then  if  you  fall  down,  you  will  not 
fall  upon  your  fire." 

Mary  Bell,  obeying  this  injunction,  went  out 
to  her  oven  and  put  the  coals  in  at  the  mouth 
of  it.  Then  she  began  to  gather  sticks,  and  lit 
tle  branches,  and  strips  of  birch  bark,  and  other 
silvan  combustibles,  which  she  found  scattered 
about  the  ground,  and  put  them  upon  the  coals 
to  make  the  fire.  She  stopped  now  and  then  a 
minute  or  two  to  rest  and  to  listen  to  the  sound 
of  Mary  Erskine's  spinning.  At  last  some  sud 
den  thought  seemed  to  come  into  her  head,  and 
throwing  down  upon  the  ground  a  handful  of 
sticks  which  she  had  in  her  hand,  and  wras  just 
ready  to  put  upon  the  fire,  she  got  up  and 
walked  toward  the  house. 

"  Mary  Erskine,"  said  she,  "  I  almost  forgot 
about  your  punishment." 


MARY  ERSKINE'S  VISITORS.         til 

Mary  Erskine  punished  for  disobedience. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "I  hoped  that 
you  had  forgot  about  it,  altogether." 

"Why?"  said  Mary  Bell. 

"  Because,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  don't  like 
to  be  punished." 

"  But  you  must  be  punished,"  said  Mary  Bell, 
very  positively,  "  and  what  shall  your  punish 
ment  be  ?" 

"  How  would  it  do,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  go 
ing  on,  however,  all  the  time  with  her  spinning 
"  for  me  to  have  to  give  you  two  potatoes  to 
roast  in  your  oven  ? — or  one  ?  One  potato  will 
be  enough  punishment  for  such  a  little  disobe 
dience." 

"  No ;  two,"  said  Mary  Bell. 

"  Well,  two,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  You 
may  go  and  get  them  in  a  pail  out  in  the  stoop. 
But  you  must  wash  them  first,  before  you  put 
them  in  the  oven.  You  can  wash  them  down 
at  the  brook." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  get  my  fingers  smut 
ty,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  at  my  oven,  for  the  stump 
is  pretty  black." 

"  No  matter  if  you  do,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 
"  You  can  go  down  and  wash  them  at  the 
brook," 

"  And  my  frock,  too,"  said  Mary  Bell. 


62  MARY   ERS KIN E. 

Mary  Bell's  amusements  at  the  brook. 

"  No  matter  for  that  either,"  said  Mary 
Erskine ;  "  only  keep  it  as  clean  as  you 
can." 

So  Mary  Bell  took  the  two  potatoes  and  went 
down  to  the  brook  to  wash  them.  She  found, 
however,  when  she  reached  the  brook,  that  there 
was  a  square  piece  of  bark  lying  upon  the  mar 
gin  of  the  water,  and  she  determined  to  push  it 
in  and  sail  it,  for  her  ship,  putting  the  two  pota 
toes  on  for  cargo.  After  sailing  the  potatoes 
about  for  some  time,  her  eye  chanced  to  fall 
upon  a  smooth  spot  in  the  sand,  which  she  thought 
would  make  a  good  place  for  a  garden.  So  she 
determined  to  plant  her  potatoes  instead  of 
roasting  them. 

She  accordingly  dug  a  hole  in  the  sand 
with  her  fingers,  and  put  the  potatoes  in,  and 
then  after  covering  them,  over  with  the  sand, 
she  went  to  the  oven  to  get  her  fire-pan 
for  her  watering-pot,  in  order  to  water  her 
garden. 

The  holes  in  the  bottom  of  the  dipper  made 
it  an  excellent  watering-pot,  provided  the  gar 
den  to  be  watered  was  not  too  far  from  the 
brook :  for  the  shower  would  always  begin  to 
fall  the  instant  the  dipper  was  lifted  out  of  the 
water. 


MARY   E  R  s  K  i  N  E  '  s   VISITORS.       63 


Washing  the  potatoes. 


MJLRY  BELL  AT  THE  BROOK. 


After  watering  her  garden  again  and  again, 
Mary  Bell  concluded  on  the  whole  not  to  wait 
for  her  potatoes  to  grow,  but  dug  them  up  and 
began  to  wash  them  in  the  brook,  to  make  them 
ready  for  the  roasting.  Her  little  feet  sank  into 
the  sand  at  the  margin  of  the  water  while  she 
held  the  potatoes  in  the  stream,  one  in  each 
hand,  and  watched  the  current  as  it  swept 
sw/tly  by  them.  After  a  while  she  took  them 
ou^  and  put  them  in  the  sun  upon  a  flat  stone 
to  fSry,  and  when  they  were  dry  she  carried 


64  MARYERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskino's  visitors.  Anne  Sophia. 

them  to  her  oven  and  buried  them  in  the  hot 
embers  there. 

Thus  Mary  Bell  would  amuse  herself,  hour 
after  hour  of  the  long  day,  when  she  went  to 
visit  Mary  Erskine,  with  an  endless  variety  of 
childish  imaginings.  Her  working-frock  be 
came  in  fact,  in  her  mind,  the  emblem  of  com 
plete  and  perfect  liberty  and  happiness,  un 
bounded  and  unalloyed. 

The  other  children  of  the  village,  too,  were 
accustomed  to  come  out  and  see,Mary  Erskine, 
and  sometimes  older  and  more  ceremonious 
company  still.  There  was  one  young  lady 
named  Anne  Sophia,  who,  having  been  a  near 
neighbor  of  Mrs.  Bell's,  was  considerably  ac 
quainted  with  Mary  Erskine,  though  as  the  two 
young  ladies  had  very  different  tastes  and  habits 
of  mind,  they  never  became  very  intimate 
friends.  Anne  Sophia  was  fond  of  dress  and 
of  company.  Her  thoughts  were  always  run 
ning  upon  village  subjects  and  viPage  people, 
and  her  highest  ambition  was  to  live  there. 
She  had  been,  while  Mary  Erskine  had  lived  at 
Mrs.  Bell's,  very  much  interested  in  a  young 
man  named  Gordon.  He  was  a  clerk  in  a  store 
in  the  village.  He  was  a  very  agreeable  young 
man,  and  much  more  genteel  and  polished  in  his 


MARY    ERSKINE'S   VISITOR s.        65 

Mr.  Gordon.  Anne  Sophia's  disposition. 

personal  appearance  than  Albert.  He  had 
great  influence  among  the  young  men  of  the 
village,  being  the  leader  in  all  the  excursions 
and  parties  of  pleasure  which  were  formed 
among  them  Anne  Sophia  knew  very  well 
that  Mr.  Gordon  liked  to  see  young  ladies 
handsomely  dressed  when  they  appeared  in 
public,  and  partly  to  please  him,  and  partly  to 
gratify  that  very  proper  feeling  of  pleasure 
which  all  young  ladies  have  in  appearing  well, 
she  spent  a  large  part  of  earnings  in  dress.  She 
was  not  particularly  extravagant,  nor  did  she 
get  into  debt ;  but  she  did  not,  like  Mary  Erskine, 
attempt  to  lay  up  any  of  her  wages.  She  often 
endeavored  to  persuade  Mary  Erskine  to  follow 
her  example.  "It  is  of  no  use,"  said  she,  "for 
girls  like  you  and  me  to  try  to  lay  up  money.  If 
we  are  ever  married  we  shall  make  our  husbands 
take  care  of  us  ;  and  if  we  are  not  married  we 
shall  not  want  our  savings,  for  we  can  always 
earn  what  we  need  as  we  go  along." 

Mary  Erskine  had  no  reply  at  hand  to  make 
to  this  reasoning,  but  she  was  not  convinced  by 
it,  so  she  went  on  pursuing  her  own  course,  while 
Anne  Sophia  pursued  hers.  Anne  Sophia  was 
a  very  capable  and  intelligent  girl,  and  as  Mr. 
Gordon  thought,  would  do  credit  to  any  society 
E 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mr.  Gordon  goes  into  business  for  himself. 

m  which  she  might  be  called  to  move.  He 
became  more  and  more  interested  in  her,  and  it 
happened  that  they  formed  an  engagement  to 
be  married,  just  about  the  time  that  Albert  made 
his  proposal  to  Mary  Erskine. 

Mr.  Gordon  was  a  very  promising  business 
man,  and  had  had  an  offer  from  the  merchant 
with  whom  he  was  employed  as  a  clerk,  to  entei 
into  partnership  with  him,  just  before  the  time 
of  his  engagement.  He  declined  this  offer,  de 
termining  rather  to  go  into  business  independ 
ently.  He  had  laid  up  about  as  much  money 
as  Albert  had,  and  by  means  of  this,  and  the  ex 
cellent  letters  of  recommendation  which  he  ob 
tained  from  the  village  people,  he  obtained  a 
large  stock  of  goods,  on  credit,  in  the  city. 
When  buying  his  goods  he  also  bought  a  small 
quantity  of  handsome  furniture,  on  the  same 
terms.  He  hired  a  store.  He  also  hired  a 
small  white  house,  with  green  trees  around  it, 
and  a  pretty  garden  behind.  He  was  married 
nearly  at  the  same  time  with  Albert,  and  Anne 
Sophia  in  taking  possession  of  her  genteel  and 
beautiful  village  home,  was  as  happy  as  Mary 
Erskine  was  in  her  sylvan  solitude.  Mr.  Gor 
don  told  her  that  he  had  made  a  calculation,  and 
he  thought  there  was  no  doubt  that,  if  business 


MARY  ERSKINE'S  VISITORS.        67 

Anne  Sophia's  call  upon  Mary  Erskine. 

was  tolerably  good  that  winter,  he  should  be 
able  to  clear  enough  to  pay  all  his  expenses  and 
to  pay  for  his  furniture. 

His  calculations  proved  to  be  correct.  Busi 
ness  was  very  good.  He  paid  for  his  furniture, 
and  bought  as  much  more  on  a  new  credit  in 
the  spring. 

Anne  Sophia  came  out  to  make  a  call  upon 
Mary  Erskine,  about  a  month  after  she  had  got 
established  in  her  new  home.  She  came  in  the 
morning.  Mr.  Gordon  brought  her  in  a  chaise 
as  far  as  to  the  corner,  and  she  walked  the  rest 
of  the  way.  She  was  dressed  very  handsomely, 
and  yet  in  pretty  good  taste.  It  was  not  wholly 
a  call  of  ceremony,  for  Anne  Sophia  felt  really 
a  strong  attachment  to  Mary  Erskine,  and  had 
a  great  desire  to  see  her  in  her  new  home. 

o 

When  she  rose  to  take  her  leave,  after  her 
call  was  ended,  she  asked  Mary  Erskine  to  come 
to  the  village  and  see  her  as  soon  as  she  could. 
"  I  meant  to  have  called  upon  you  long  before 
this,"  said  she,  "  but  I  have  been  so  busy,  and 
we  have  had  so  much  company.  But  I  want 
to  see  you  very  much  indeed.  We  have  a 
beautiful  house,  and  I  have  a  great  desire  to 
show  it  to  you.  I  think  you  have  got  a  beauti 
ful  place  here  for  a  farm,  one  of  these  days  ,• 


68  MARJf    ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine's  home. 

but  you  ought  to  make  your  husband  build  you 
a  better  house.  He  is  as  able  to  do  it  as  my 
husband  is  to  get  me  one,  I  have  no  doubt." 

Mary  Erskine  had  no  doubt  either.  She  did 
aot  say  so  however,  but  only  replied  that  she 
liked  her  house  very  well.  The  real  reason 
why  she  liked  it  so  much  was  one  that  Anne 
Sophia  did  not  consider.  The  reason  was  that 
it  was  her  own.  Whereas  Anne  Sophia  lived 
in  a  house,  which,  pretty  as  it  was,  belonged  to 
other  people. 

All  these  things,  it  must  be  remembered,  took 
place  eight  or  ten  years  before  the  time  when 
Malleville  and  Phonny  went  to  visit  Mary 
Erskine,  and  when  Mary  Bell  was  only  four  or 
five  years  old.  Phonny  and  Malleville,  as  well 
as  a  great  many  other  children,  had  grown  up 
from  infancy  since  that  time.  In  fact,  the 
Jemmy  who  fell  from  his  horse  and  sprained  his 
ankle  the  day  they  came,  was  Jemmy  Gordon., 
iinne  Sophia's  oldest  sou. 


CALAMITY. 


Albert's  farming  operations. 


CHAPTER    IV. 
CALAMITY. 

BOTH  Mary  Erskine  and  Anne  Sophia  wem 
on  very  pleasantly  and  prosperously,  each  in 
her  own  way,  for  several  years.  Every  spring 
Albert  cut  down  more  trees,  and  made  new 
openings  and  clearings.  He  built  barns  and 
sheds  about  his  house,  and  gradually  accumu 
lated  quite  a  stock  of  animals.  With  the  money 
that  he  obtained  by  selling  the  grain  and  the 
grass  seed  which  he  raised  upon  his  land,  he 
bought  oxen  and  sheep  and  cows.  These  ani 
mals  fed  in  his  pastures  in  the  summer,  and  in 
the  winter  he  gave  them  hay  from  his  barn. 

Mary  Erskine  used  to  take  the  greatest  pleas 
ure  in  getting  up  early  in  the  cold  winter 
mornings,  and  going  out  with  her  husband  to 
see  him  feed  the  animals.  She  always  brought 
in  a  large  pile  of  wood  every  night,  the  last 
thing  before  going  to  bed,  and  laid  it  upon  the 
hearth  where  it  would  be  ready  at  hand  for  the 
morning  fire.  She  also  had  a  pail  of  water 
ready,  from  the  spring,  and  the  tea-kettle  by  the 


70  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine'a  morning  visits  to  the  barn. 


side  of  it,  ready  to  be  filled.  The  potatoes,  too, 
which  were  to  be  roasted  for  breakfast,  were 
always  prepared  the  night  before,  and  placed  in 
an  earthen  pan,  before  the  fire.  Mary  Er- 
skine,  in  fact,  was  always  very  earnest  to  make 
every  possible  preparation  over  night,  for  the 
work  of  the  morning.  This  arose  partly  from 
an  instinctive  impulse  which  made  her  always 
wish,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  to  do  every  duty  as 
soon  as  it  came  in  sight,"  and  partly  from  the 
pleasure  which  she  derived  from  a  morning  visit 
to  the  animals  in  the  barn.  She  knew  them  all 
by  name.  She  imagined  that  they  all  knew 
her,  and  were  glad  to  see  her  by  the  light  of 
her  lantern  in  the  morning.  It  gave  her  the 
utmost  satisfaction  to  see  them  rise,  one  after 
another,  from  their  straw,  and  begin  eagerly  to 
eat  the  hay  which  Albert  pitched  do:*ri  to  them 
from  the  scaffold,  while  she,  standing  below 
upon  the  barn  floor,  held  the  lantern  so  that  he 
could  see.  She  was  always  very  careful  to 
hold  it  so  that  the  cows  and  the  oxen  could 
see  too. 

One  day,  when  Albert  came  home  from  the 
village,  he  told  Mary  Erskine  that  he  had  an 
offer  of  a  loan  of  two  hundred  dollars,  from 
Mr.  Keep.  Mr.  Keep  was  an  elderly  gentle- 


CALAMITY  71 


Mr  Keep.  Mr.  Gordon's  request. 

man  of  the  village, — of  a  mild  and  gentle  ex 
pression  of  countenance,  and  white  hair.  He 
was  a  man  of  large  property,  and  often  had 
money  to  lend  at  interest.  He  had  an  office, 
where  he  used  to  do  his  business.  This  office 
was  in  a  wing  of  his  house,  which  was  a  large 
and  handsome  house  in  the  center  of  the  vil 
lage.  Mr.  Keep  had  a  son  who  was  a  physi 
cian,  and  he  used  often  to  ask  his  son's  opinion 
and  advice  about  his  affairs.  One  day  when 
Mr.  Keep  was  sitting  in  his  office,  Mr.  Gordon 
came  in  and  told  him  that  he  had  some  plans 
for  enlarging  his  business  a  little,  and  wished  to 
know  if  Mr.  Keep  had  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars  that  he  would  like  to  lend  for  six  months 
Mr.  Keep,  who,  though  he  was  a  very  benevo 
lent  and  a  very  honorable  man,  was  very  care 
ful  in  all  his  money  dealings,  said  that  he  would 
look  a  little  into  his  accounts,  and  see  how 
much  he  had  to  spare,  and  let  Mr.  Gordon 
know  the  next  day. 

That  night  Mr.  Keep  asked  his  son  what  he 
thought  of  lending  Mr.  Gordon  two  or  three 
hundred  dollars.  His  son  said  doubtfully  that 
he  did  net  know.  He  was  somewhat  uncertain 
about  it,  Mr.  Gordon  was  doing  very  well,  he 
believed,  but  then  his  expenses  were  quite 


72  MARYERSKINE. 

Mr.  Keep's  proposal  to  Albert. 

heavy,  and  it  was  not  quite  certain  how  it  would 
turn  with  him.  Mr.  Keep  then  said  that  he  had 
two  or  three  hundred  dollars  on  hand  which  he 
must  dispose  of  in  some  way  or  other,  and  he 
asked  his  son  what  he  should  do  with  it.  His 
son  recommended  that  he  should  offer  it  to  Al 
bert.  Albert  formerly  lived  at  Mr.  Keep's,  as 
a  hired  man,  so  that  Mr.  Keep  knew  him  very 
well. 

"  He  is  going  on  quite  prosperously  in  his 
farm,  I  understand,"  said  the  doctor.  "  His 
laad  is  all  paid  for,  and  he  is  getting  quite  a 
stock  of  cattle,  and  very  comfortable  buildings. 
I  think  it  very  likely  that  he  can  buy  more  stock 
with  the  money,  and  do  wrell  with  it.  And,  at 
all  events,  you  could  not  put  the  money  in  safer 
hands." 

"  I  will  propose  it  to  him,"  said  Mr.  Keep. 

He  did  propose  it  to  him  that  very  afternoon, 
for  it  happened  that  Albert  went  to  the  village 
that  day.  Albert  told  Mr.  Keep  that  he  was 
very  much  obliged  to  him  for  the  offer  of  the 
money,  and  that  he  would  consider  whether  it 
would  be  best  for  him  to  take  it  or  not,  and  .et 
him  know  in  the  morning.  So  he  told  Mary 
Erskine  of  the  offer  that  he  had  had,  as  soon  as 
he  got  home. 


CALAMITY.  73 


Mary  Erskine's  influence  on  Albert's  prosperity. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  get  such  an  offcr,"  said 
Albert. 

"  Shall  you  take  the  money  ?"  said  his  wife. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Albert.  "  I  rathei 
think  not." 

"  Then  why  are  you  glad  to  get  the  offer  ?' 
asked  Mary  Erskine. 

"Oh,  it  shows  that  my  credit  is  good  in 
the  village.  It  must  be  very  good,  indeed, 
to  lead  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Keep  to  offer 
to  lend  me  money,  of  his  own  accord.  It  is  a 
considerable  comfort  to  know  that  I  can  get 
money,  whenever  I  want  it,  even  if  I  never  take 
it." 

"  Yes."  said  Mary  Erskine,  "so  it  is." 

"  And  it  is  all  owing  to  you,"  said  Albert 

"  To  me  ?"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  ;  "  to  your  prudence  and  econ 
omy,  and  to  your  contented  and  happy  disposi 
tion.  That  is  one  thing  that  I  always  liked 
you  for,  It  is  so  easy  to  make  you  happy. 
There  is  many  a  wife,  in  your  situation,  who 
could  not  have  been  happy  unless  their  hus 
band  would  build  them  a  handsome  house  and 
fill  it  with  handsome  furniture — even  if  he  had 
to  go  in  debt  for  his  land  to  pay  for  it." 

Mary  Erskine  did  not  reply,  though  it  grati- 


74  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Consultation  on  Mr.  Keep's  offer. 


Tied  her  very  tiuch  to  hear  her  husband  com 
mend  her. 

"  Well,"  said  she  at  length,  "  I  am  very  giad 
that  you  have  got  good  credit.  What  should 
you  do  with  the  money,  if  you  borrowed  it  ?" 

"  Why,  one  thing  that  I  could  do,"  said  Al 
bert,  "  would  be  to  build  a  new  house." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  like  this  house 
very  much.  I  don't  want  any  other — certainly 
not  until  we  can  build  one  with  our  own 
money." 

"  Then,"  said  Albert,  "  I  can  buy  more  stock, 
and  perhaps  hire  some  help,  and  get  more  land 
cleared  this  fall,  so  as  to  have  greater  crops  next 
spring,  and  then  sell  the  stock  when  it  has  grown 
and  increased,  and  also  the  crops,  and  so  get 
money  enough  to  pay  back  the  debt  and  have 
something  over." 

"  Should  you  have  much  over  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"  Why  that  would  depend  upon  how  my  busi 
ness  turned  out, — and  that  would  depend  upon 
the  weather,  and  the  markets,  and  other  things 
which  we  can  not  now  foresee.  I  think  it  prob 
able  that  we  should  have  a  good  deal  over." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  then  I  would 
take  the  money." 

"  But,  then,  on  the  other  hand,"  said  Albert 


CALAMITY.  75 


The  risk  of  embarrassment. 


"  I  should  run  some  risk  of  embarrassing  my 
self,  if  things  did  not  turn  out  well.  If  I  were 
to  be  sick,  so  that  I  could  not  attend  to  so  much 
business,  or  if  I  should  lose  any  of  my  stock,  or 
if  the  crops  should  not  do  well,  then  I  might  not 
get  enough  to  pay  back  the  debt." 

"  And  what  should  you  do  then  ?"  asked  Mary 
Erskine. 

"  Why  then,"  replied  Albert,  "  I  should  have 
to  make  up  the  deficiency  in  some  other  way. 
I  might  ask  Mr.  Keep  to  put  off  the  payment 
of  the  note,  or  I  might  borrow  the  money  of 
somebody  else  to  pay  him,  or  I  might  sell  some 
of  my  other  stock.  I  could  do  any  of  these 
things  well  enough,  but  it  would  perhaps  cause 
me  some  trouble  and  anxiety." 

"  Then  I  would  not  take  the  money,"  said 
Mary  Erskine.  "  I  don't  like  anxiety.  I  can 
bear  any  thing  else  better  than  anxiety." 

"  However,  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it," 
continued  Mary  Erskine,  after  a  short  pause. 
"  You  can  judge  best." 

They  conversed  on  the  subject  some  time 
longer,  Albert  being  quite  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  it  was  best  to  do.  Mary  Erskine,  for  her 
part,  seemed  perfectly  willing  that  he  should 
sorrow  the  money  to  buy  more  stock,  as  she 


76  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Albert's  decision.  A  new  house. 

liked  the  idea  of  having  more  oxen,  sheep,  and 
cows.  But  she  seemed  decidedly  opposed  to 
using  borrowed  money  to  build  a  new  house,  or 
to  buy  new  furniture.  Her  head  would  ache, 
she  said,  to  lie  on  a  pillow  of  feathers  that  was 
not  paid  for. 

Albert  finally  concluded  not  to  borrow  the 
money,  and  so  Mr.  Keep  lent  it  to  Mr.  Gordon. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  about  three 
or  four  years,  and  then  Albert  began  to  think 
seriously  of  building  another  house.  He  had 
now  money  enough  of  his  own  to  build  it  with. 
His  stock  had  become  so  large  that  he  had  not 
sufficient  barn  room  for  his  hay,  and  he  did  not 
wish  to  build  larger  barns  where  he  then  lived, 
for  in  the  course  of  his  clearings  he  had  found 
a  much  better  place  for  a  house  than  the  one 
which  they  had  at  first  selected.  Then  his 
house  was  beginning  to  be  too  small  for  his 
family,  for  Mary  Erskine  had,  now,  two  chil 
dren.  One  was  an  infant,  and  the  other  was 
about  two  years  old.  These  children  slept  in  a 
trundle-bed,  which  was  pushed  under  the  great 
bed  in  the  daytime,  but  still  the  room  became- 
rather  crowded.  So  Albert  determined  to 
build  another  house. 

Mary  Erskine  was  very  much  interested  in 


CALAMITY.  77 


Mary  Erskine's  pleasant  prospect.  Packisj*. 


this  plan.  She  would  like  to  live  in  a  hand 
some  house  as  well  as  any  other  lady,  only  she 
preferred  to  wait  until  she  could  have  one  of 
her  own.  Now  that  that  time  had  arrived,  she 
was  greatly  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  having 
her  kitchen,  her  sitting-room,  and  her  bed-room, 
in  three  separate  rooms,  instead  of  having  them, 
as  heretofore,  all  in  one.  Then  the  barns  and 
barn-yards,  and  the  pens  and  sheds  for  the  sheep 
and  cattle,  were  all  going  to  be  much  more  con 
venient  than  they  had  been ;  so  that  Albert 
could  take  care  of  a  greater  amount  of  stock 
than  before,  with  the  same  labor.  The  new 
house,  too,  was  going  to  be  built  in  a  much 
more  pleasant  situation  than  the  old  one,  and 
the  road  from  it  to  the  corner  was  to  be  im 
proved,  so  that  they  could  go  in  and  out  with  a 
wagon.  In  a  word,  Mary  Erskine's  heart  was 
filled  with  new  hopes  and  anticipations,  as  she 
saw  before  her  means  and  sources  of  happiness, 
higher  and  more  extended  than  she  had  ever 
before  enjoyed. 

When  the  time  approached  for  moving  into 
the  new  house  Mary  Erskine  occupied  herself, 
whenever  she  had  any  leisure  time,  in  packing 
up  such  articles  as  were  not  in  use.  One  after 
noon  while  she  was  engaged  in  this  occupation 


78  M  A  R  Y     E  R  S  K  I  N  E. 


The  children.  A  \bert  is  m  i well. 


Albert  came  home  from  the  field  much  earlier 
than  usual.  Mary  Erskine  was  very  glad  to 
see  him,  as  she  wished  him  to  nail  up  the  box 
in  which  she  had  been  packing  her  cups  and 
saucers.  She  was  at  work  on  the  stoop,  very 
near  the  door,  so  that  she  could  watch  the  chil 
dren.  The  baby  was  in  the  cradle.  The  other 
child,  whose  name  was  Bella,  was  playing  about 
the  floor. 

Albert  stopped  a  moment  to  look  at  Mary 
Erskine's  packing,  and  then  went  in  and  took 
his  seat  upon  the  settle. 

"  Tell  me  when  your  box  is  ready,"  said  he, 
•"  and  I  will  come  and  nail  it  for  you." 

Bella  walked  along  toward  her  father — for 
she  had  just  learned  to  walk — and  attempted  to 
climb  up  into  his  lap. 

"  Run  away,  Bella,"  said  Albert. 

Mary  Erskine  was  surprised  to  hear  Albert 
tell  Bella  to  run  away,  for  he  was  usually  very 
glad  to  have  his  daughter  come  to  him  when  he 
got  home  from  his  work.  She  looked  up  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  He  was  sitting  upon  the 
settle,  and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

Mary  Erskine  left  her  work  and  went  to  him 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Albert  ?"  said  she. 

"  My  head  aches  a  little.     It  ached   in  the 


CALAMITY.  7*J 


Albert  is  too  unwell  to  finish  packing. 


field,  and  that  was  the  reason  why  I  thought  I 
would  come  home.  But  it  is  better  now.  Are 
you  ready  for  me  to  come  and  nail  the  box  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mary,  "  not  quite ;  and  besides,  it 
is  no  matter  about  it  to-night.  I  will  get  you 
some  tea," 

"  No,"  said  Albert,  "  finish  your  packing  first, 
and  I  will  come  and  nail  it.  Then  we  can  put 
it  out  of  the  way." 

Mary  Erskine  accordingly  finished  her  pack 
ing,  and  Albert  went  to  it,  to  nail  the  cover  on. 
He  drove  one  or  two  nails,  and  then  he  put  the 
hammer  down,  and  sat  down  himself  upon  the 
box,  saying  that  he  could  not  finish  the  nailing 
after  all.  He  was  too  unwell.  He  went  into 
the  room,  Mary  Erskine  leading  and  supporting 
him.  She  conducted  him  to  the  bed  and  opened 
the  curtains  so  as  to  let  him  lie  down.  She 
helped  him  to  undress  himself,  and  then  left  him, 
a  few  minutes  while  she  began  to  get  some  tea. 
She  moved  the  box,  which  she  had  been  pack 
ing,  away  from  the  stoop  door,  and  put  it  in  a 
coiner.  She  drew  out  the  trundle-bed,  and 
made  it  ready  for  Bella.  She  sat  down  and 
gave  Bella  some  supper,  and  then  put  her  into 
the  trundle-bed,  directing  her  to  shut  up  her 
eyes  and  go  to  sleep.  Bella  obeyed. 


80  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine's  preparations.  Albert  falls  asleep? 

Mary  Erskine  then  went  to  the  fire  and  made 
some  tea  and  toast  for  Albert,  doing  every  thing 
tn  as  quiet  and  noiseless  a  manner  as  possible 
When  the  tea  and  toast  were  ready  she  put 
them  upon  a  small  waiter,  and  then  moving  her 
little  work-table  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  she 
put  the  waiter  upon  it.  When  every  thing  was 
thus  ready,  she  opened  the  curtains.  Albert 
was  asleep. 

He  seemed  however  to  be  uneasy  and  rest 
less,  and  he  moaned  now  and  then  as  if  in  pain. 
Mary  Erskine  stood  leaning  over  him  for  some 
time,  with  a  countenance  filled  with  anxiety 
and  concern.  She  then  turned  away,  saying  to 
herself,  "  If  Albert  is  going  to  be  sick  and  to  die, 
what  will  become  of  me  ?"  She  kneeled  down 
upon  the  floor  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  crossed 
her  arms  before  her,  laid  them  down  very 
quietly  upon  the  counterpane,  and  reclined  her 
forehead  upon  them.  She  remained  in  that 
position  for  some  time  without  speaking  a  word. 

Presently  she  rose  and  took  the  tea  and  toasl 
upon  the  waiter,  and  set  them  down  by  the  fire 
in  order  to  keep  them  warm.  She  next  went 
to  look  at  the  children,  to  see  if  they  were 
properly  covered.  Then  she  opened  the  bed- 
curtains  a  little  way  in  order  that  she  might  se# 


CALAMITY.  81 

Mary  Erskine  sends  for  Dr.  Keep. 

Albert  in  case  he  should  wake  or  move,  and 
having  adjusted  them  as  she  wished,  she  went 
to  the  stoop  door  and  took  her  seat  there,  with 
her  knitting-work  in  her  hand,  in  a  position 
from  which,  on  one  side  she  could  look  into  the 
room  and  observe  every  thing  which  took  place 
there,  and  on  the  other  side,  watch  the  road  and 
see  if  any  one  went  by.  She  thought  it  proba 
ble  that  some  of  the  workmen,  who  had  been 
employed  at  the  new  house,  might  be  going 
home  about  that  time,  and  she  wished  to  send 
into  the  village  by  them  to  ask  Dr.  Keep  to 
come. 

Mary  Erskine  succeeded  in  her  design  of 
sending  into  the  village  by  one  of  the  workmen, 
and  Dr.  Keep  came  about  nine  o'clock.  He  pre 
scribed  for  Albert,  and  prepared,  and  left,  some 
medicine  for  him.  He  said  he  hoped  that  he 
was  not  going  to  be  very  sick,  but  he  could  tell 
better  in  the  morning  when  he  would  come 
again. 

"But  you  ought  not  to  be  here  alone,"  said 
he  to  Mary  Erskine.  "  You  ought  to  nave 
some  one  with  you." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  can  get  aiong 
very  well,  alone,  to-night, — and  I  think  he  will 
be  better  in  the  morning." 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Tbe  arrangements  of  the  sick-room. 


Stories  of  sickness  and  suffering  are  painfu 
to  read,  as  the  reality  is  painful  to  witness. 
We  will  therefore  shorten  the  tale  of  Mary  Er 
skine's  anxiety  and  distress,  by  saying,  at  once 
that  Albert  grew  worse  instead  of  better,  every 
nay  for  a  fortnight,  and  then  died. 

During  his  sickness  Mrs.  Bell  spent  a  great 
deal  of  time  at  Mary  Erskine's  house,  and  other 
persons,  from  the  village,  came  every  day  to 
watch  with  Albert,  and  to  help  take  care  of  the 
children.  There  was  a  young  man  also,  named 
Thomas,  whom  Mary  Erskine  employed  to 
come  and  stay  there  all  day,  to  take  the  neces 
sary  care  of  the  cattle  and  of  the  farm.  They 
made  a  bed  for  Thomas  in  the  scaffold  in  the 
barn.  They  also  made  up  a  bed  in  the  stoop, 
in  a  corner  which  they  divided  off  by  means  of 
a  curtain.  This  bed  was  for  the  watchers,  and 
for  Mary  Erskine  herself,  when  she  or  they 
wished  to  lie  down.  Mary  E-skine  went  to  it, 
herself  very  seldom.  She  remained  at  her  hus 
band's  bedside  almost  all  the  time,  day  and 
night.  Albert  suffered  very  little  pain,  and 
seemed  to  sleep  most  of  the  time.  He  revived 
a  little  the  afternoon  before  he  died,  and  ap 
peared  as  if  he  were  going  to  be  better, 
He  looked  up  into  Mary  Erskine's  face  ana 


CALAMITY.  83 


Mrs.  Bell  writes  Albert's  will. 


smiled.    It  was  plain,  however,  that  he  was  very 
feeble. 

There  was  nohody  but  Mrs,  Bell  in  the  house, 
at  that  time,  besides  Mary  Erskine  and  the 
baby.  Bella  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Bell's  house,  and 
Mary  Bell  was  taking  care  of  her.  Albert 
beckoned  his  wife  to  come  to  him,  and  said  to 
her,  in  a  faint  and  feeble  voice,  that  he  wished 
Mrs.  Bell  to  write  something  for  him.  Mar\ 
Erskine  immediately  brought  her  work-table  up 
to  the  bedside,  opened  the  drawer,  took  out  one 
of  the  sheets  of  paper  and  a  pen,  opened  the  ink 
stand,  and  thus  made  every  thing  ready  for 
writing.  Mrs.  Bell  took  her  seat  by  the  table 
in  such  a  manner  that  ner  head  was  near  to 
Albert's  as  it  lay  upon  the  pillow. 

"  I  am  ready  now,"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  I  bequeath  all  my  property,"— said  Albert.. 

Mrs.  Bell  wrote  these  words  upon  the  paper 
and  then  said, 

"  Well :  I  have  written  that." 

"To  Mary  Erskine  my  wife,"  said  Albert, 

"  I  have  written  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  a  min 
ute  afterwards. 

"  Now  hand  it  to  me  to  sign,"  said  Albert. 

They  put  the  paper  upon  a  book,  and  raising 
Albert  up  in  the  bed,  they  put  the  pen  into  his 


84  MARY   ERS  KIN  E. 


Albert's  death.  Mrs.  Bell's  invitation. 

hand.  He  wrote  his  name  at  the  bottom  of  the 
writing  at  the  right  hand.  Then  moving  his 
hand  to  the  left,  he  wrote  the  word  '  witness' 
under  the  writing  on  that  side.  His  hand  trem 
bled,  but  he  wrote  the  word  pretty  plain.  As 
he  finished  writing  it  he  told  Mrs.  Bell  that  she 
must  sign  her  name  as  witness.  When  this 
had  been  done  he  gave  back  the  paper  and  the 
pen  into  Mary  Erskine's  hand,  and  said  that  she 
must  take  good  care  of  that  paper,  for  it  was 
very  important.  He  then  laid  his  head  down 
again  upon  the  pillow  and  shut  his  eyes.  He 
died  that  night. 

Mary  Erskine  was  entirely  overwhelmed 
with  grief,  when  she  found  that  all  was  over. 
In  a  few  hours,  however,  she  became  compara 
tively  calm,  and  the  next  day  she  began  to  help 
Mrs.  Bell  in  making  preparations  for  the  fu 
neral.  She  sent  for  Bella  to  come  home  imme 
diately.  Mrs.  Bell  urged  her  very  earnestly  to 
take  both  the  children,  and  go  with  her  to  he? 
house,  after  the  funeral,  and  stay  there  for  a  feu 
days  at  least,  till  she  could  determine  what  to  do, 
"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  Tt  will  be  better 
for  me  to  come  back  here." 

"  What  do  you  think   you  shall  do  ?"   said 
Mrs.  Bell. 


CALAMITY.  85 


Mary  Erskine's  resolution.  The  funeral. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I 
can't  even  begin  to  think  now.  I  am  going  to 
wait  a  week  before  I  try  to  think  about  it  at 
nil/' 

u  And  in  the  mean  time  you  are  going  to  stay 
in  this  house." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  think  that  is 
best." 

"  But  you  must  not  stay  here  alone,"  said 
Mrs.  Bell.  "  I  will  come  back  with  you  and 
stay  with  you,  at  least  one  night." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I  have  got  to 
learn  to  be  alone  now,  arid  I  may  as  well  begin 
at  once.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
all  your — " 

Here  Mary  Erskine's  voice  faltered,  and  she 
suddenly  stopped.     Mrs.  Bell  pitied  her  with 
all   her  heart,  but  she  said  no  more.     She  re 
mained  at  the  house  while  the  funeral  proces* 
sion  was  gone  to  the  grave ;  and  some  friends 
came  back  with   Mary  Erskine,  after  the  fu> 
ueral.    They  all,  however,  went  away  about  sun 
set,  leaving  Mary  Erskine  alone  with  her  chil 
dren. 

As  soon  as  her  friends  had  gone,  Mary  Er 
skine  took  the  children  and  sat  down  in  a  rock 
ing-chair,  before  the  fire,  holding  them  both  ii 


86  MARYERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine  alone  with  her  children. 


her  lap,  the  baby  upon  one  side  and  Bella  upon 
(he  other,  and  began  to  rock  back  and  forth 
with  great  rapidity.  She  kissed  the  children 
again  and  again,  with  many  tears,  and  some 
times  she  groaned  aloud,  in  the  excess  of  hei 
anguish.  She  remained  sitting  thus  for  half  an 
hour.  The  twilight  gradually  faded  away. 
The  flickering  flame,  which  rose  from  the  fire 
in  the  fire-place,  seemed  to  grow  brighter  as  the 
daylight  disappeared,  and  to  illuminate  the 
whole  'nt^rior  of  the  room,  so  as  to  give  it  a 


THE  WIDOW  AND  THE  FATHERLESS. 


CALAMITY.  87 


Mary  Erekine  and  her  children,  asleep.  Resignation. 

genial  and  cheerful  expression.  Mary  Erskine 
gradually  became  calm.  The  children,  first  the 
baby,  and  then  Bella,  fell  asleep.  Finally  Mary 
lilrskine  herself,  who  was  by  this  time  entirely 
exhausted  with  watching,  care,  and  sorrow,  fell 
asleep  too.  Mary  Erskine  slept  sweetly  for 
two  full  hours,  and  then  was  awaked  by  the 
nestling  of  the  baby. 

When  Mary  Erskine  awoke  she  was  aston 
ished  to  find  her  mind  perfectly  calm,  tranquil, 
and  happy.  She  looked  down  upon  her  chil 
dren — Bella  asleep  and  the  baby  just  awaking 
— with  a  heart  full  of  maternal  joy  and  pleas 
ure.  Her  room,  it  seemed  to  her,  never  ap 
peared  so  bright  and  cheerful  and  happy  as 
then.  She  carried  Bella  to  the  bed  and  laid  her 
gently  down  in  Albert's  place,  and  then,  going 
back  to  the  fire,  she  gave  the  baby  the  food 
which  it  required,  and  rocked  it  to  sleep.  Her 
heart  was  resigned,  and  tranquil,  and  happy, 
ohe  put  the  baby,  at  length,  into  the  cradle,  and 
then,  kneeling  down,  she  thanked  God  with  her 
whole  soul  for  having  heard  her  prayer,  and 
granted  her  the  spirit  of  resignation  and  peace. 
She  then  pushed  open  the  curtains,  and  reclined 
herself  upon  the  bed,  where  she  lay  for  some 
time,  with  a  peaceful  smile  upon  her  coun- 


88  M  A  K  Y    E  R  a  K  1  N  E. 

Night.  The  shower.  Distress  again. 

tenance,  watching  the  flashing  of  a  little  tongue 
of  flame,  which  broke  out  at  intervals  from  the 
end  of  a  brand  in  the  fire.  After  lying  quietly 
thus,  for  a  little  while,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and 
gradually  fell  asleep  again. 

She  slept  very  profoundly.  It  was  a  summer 
night,  although,  as  usual,  Mary  Erskine  had  a 
fire.  Clouds  rose  in  the  west,  bringing  with 
them  gusts  of  wind  and  rain.  The  wind  and 
the  rain  beat  against  the  window,  but  they  did 
not  wake  her.  It  thundered.  The  thunder  did 
not  wake  her.  The  shower  passed  over,  and 
the  sky  became  serene  again,  while  Mary  Er 
skine  slept  tranquilly  on.  At  length  the  baby 
began  to  move  in  the  cradle.  Mary  Erskine 
heard  the  first  sound  that  its  nestling  made,  and 
raised  herself  up  suddenly.  The  fire  had  nearly 
gone  out.  There  was  no  flame,  and  the  room 
was  lighted  only  by  the  glow  of  the  burning 
embers.  Mary  Erskine  was  frightened  to  find 
herself  alone.  The  tranquillity  and  happiness 
which  she  had  experienced  a  few  hours  ago 
were  all  gone,  and  her  mind  was  filled,  instead, 
with  an  undefined  and  mysterious  distress  and 
terror.  She  went  to  the  fire-place  and  built  a 
new  fire,  for  the  sake  of  its  company.  She 
took  the  baby  from  the  cradle  and  sat  down  in 


CALAMITY. 


Watching  for  morning. 


the  rocking-chair,  determining  not  to  go  to  bed 
again  till  morning.  She  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  out  at  the  stars,  to  see  if  she  could 
tell  by  them  how  long  it  \vould  be  before  the 
morning  would  come.  She  felt  afraid,  though 
she  knew  not  why,  and  holding  the  baby  in  hei 
arms,  with  its  head  upon  her  shoulder,  she 
walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room,  in  great 
distress  and  anguish,  longing  for  the  morning 
to  come.  Such  is  the  capriciousness  of  grief. 


90  MARYERSKINE. 

Mrs.  Bell.  The  night  lamp  and  the  lightning. 


CHAPTER    V. 
CONSULT  ATIONS. 

MRS.  BELL  went  home  on  the  evening  of  the 
funeral,  very  much  exhausted  and  fatigued  un 
der  the  combined  effects  of  watching,  anxiety, 
and  exertion.  She  went  to  bed,  and  slept  very 
soundly  until  nearly  midnight.  The  thunder 
awaked  her. 

She  felt  solitary  and  afraid.  Mary  Bell,  who 
was  then  about  nine  years  old,  was  asleep  in  a 
crib,  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  There  was  a  little 
night  lamp,  burning  dimly  on  the  table,  and  it 
shed  a  faint  and  dismal  gleam  upon  the  objects 
around  it.  Every  few  minutes,  however,  the 
lightning  would  flash  into  the  windows  and 
glare  a  moment  upon  the  walls,  and  then  leave 
the  room  in  deeper  darkness  than  ever.  The 
little  night  lamp,  whose  feeble  beam  had  been 
for  the  moment  entirely  overpowered,  would 
then  gradually  come  out  to  view  again,  to  dif 
fuse  once  more  its  faint  illumination,  until  an 
other  flash  of  lightning  came  to  extinguish  it  ah 
before. 


CONSULTATIONS.  91 


Mrs.  Bell's  sympathy  for  Mary  Erskine. 


Mrs.  Bell  rose  from  her  bed,  and  went  to  the 
crib  to  see  if  Mary  Bell  was  safe.  She  found 
her  sleeping  quietly.  Mrs.  Bell  drew  the  crib 
out  a  little  way  from  the  wall,  supposing  that 
she  should  thus  put  it  into  a  somewhat  safer 
position.  Then  she  lighted  a  large  lamp.  Then 
she  closed  all  the  shutters  of  the  room,  in  order 
to  shut  out  the  lightning.  Then  she  went  to 
bed  again,  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep.  But  she 
could  not.  She  was  thinking  of  Mary  Erskine, 
and  endeavoring  to  form  some  plan  for  her 
future  life.  She  could  not,  however,  determine 
what  it  was  best  for  her  to  do. 

In  the  morning,  after  breakfast,  she  sat  down 
at  the  window,  with  her  knitting  work  in  her 
hand,  looking  very  thoughtful  and  sad.  Pres 
ently  she  laid  her  work  down  in  her  lap,  and 
seemed  lost  in  some  melancholy  reverie. 

Mary  Bell,  who  had  been  playing  about  the 
floor  for  some  time,  came  up  to  her  mother>  and 
seeing  her  look  so  thoughtful  and  sorrowful,  she 
said, 

"  Mother,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"Why,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  in  a  melan 
choly  tone,  "  I  was  thinking  of  poor  Mary  Er 
skine.3' 

"  Well,  mother,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  could  not 


MARY   ERSKINE. 


Mary  Bell's  offer. 


MRS.    BELL. 


you  give  her  a  little  money,  if  she  is  poor  ?  I 
vill  give  her  my  ten  cents." 

Mary  Bell  had  a  silver  piece  of  ten  cents, 
which  she  kept  in  a  little  box.  in  her  mother's 
room  up  stairs. 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  poor  for  want  of  money,"  sai«i 
Mrs,  Bell.  "  Her  husband  made  his  will,  before 
he  died,  and  left  her  all  his  property." 

"  Though  I  told  Mr.  Keep  about  it  last  night/' 
continued  Mrs.  Bell,  talking  half  1o  herself  and 


CONSULTATIONS.  93 

Albert's  will  not  good.  The  law  of  the  State. 

half  to  Mary,  "  and  he  said  the  will  was  not 
good.' 

"  Not  good,"  said  Mary.  "  I  think  it  is  a 
very  good  will  indeed.  I  am  sure  Mary  Er- 
skine  ought  to  have  it  all.  Who  should  have  it, 
if  not  she  ?" 

"  The  children,  I  suppose,"  said  her  mother. 

"  The  children  !"  exclaimed  Mary  Bell. 
•'  Hoh  !  They  are  not  half  big  enough.  They 
are  only  two  babies ;  a  great  baby  and  a  little 
one." 

Mrs.  Bell  did  not  answer  this,  nor  did  she 
seem  to  take  much  notice  of  it,  but  took  up  her 
knitting  again,  and  went  on  musing  as  before. 
Mary  Bell  did  not  understand  very  well  about 
the  will.  The  case  was  this : 

The  law,  in  the  state  where  Mary  Erskine 
lived,  provided  that  when  a  man  died,  as  Al 
bert  had  done,  leaving  a  wife  and  children,  and 
a  farm,  and  also  stock,  and  furniture,  and  other 
such  movable  property,  if  he  made  no  will,  the 
wife  was  to  have  a  part  of  the  property,  and  the 
rest  must  be  saved  for  the  children,  in  order  to 
be  delivered  to  them,  when  they  should  grow  up, 
and  be  ready  to  receive  it  and  use  it.  The  farm, 
when  there  was  a  farm,  was  to  be  kept  until  the 
children  should  grow  up,  only  their  mother  was 


MARYERSKINE. 


The  law  of  the  division  of  property. 


to  have  one  third  of  the  benefit  of  it, — that  is, 
one  third  of  the  rent  of  it,  if  they  could  let  it — 
until  the  children  became  of  age.  The  amount 
^of  the  other  two  thirds  was  to  be  kept  for  them. 
In  respect  to  all  movable  property,  such  as  stock 
and  tools,  and  furniture,  and  other  things  of  that 
kind,  since  they  could  not  very  conveniently  be 
kept  till  the  children  were  old  enough  to  use 
them,  they  were  to  be  sold,  and  the  wife  was  to 
have  half  the  value,  and  the  children  the  other 
half. 

In  respect  to  the  children's  part  of  all  the 
property,  they  were  not,  themselves,  to  have  the 
care  of  it,  but  some  person  was  to  be  appointed 
to  be  their  guardian.  This  guardian  was  to 
have  the  care  of  all  their  share  of  the  property, 
until  they  were  of  age,  when  it  was  to  be  paid 
over  into  their  hands. 

If  however,  the  husband,  before  his  death,  was 
disposed  to  do  so,  he  might  make  a  will,  and  give 
all  the  property  to  whomsoever  he  pleasedr  If 
he  decided,  as  Albert  had  done,  to  give  it  all  to 
his  wife,  then  it  would  come  wholly  under  her 
control,  at  once.  She  would  be  under  no  obli 
gation  to  keep  any  separate  account  of  the  chil 
dren's  share,  but  might  expend  it  all  herself,  oj 
if  she  were  so  inclined,  she  might  keep  it  safety. 


CONSULTATIONS.  95 

The  functions  of  the  Judge  of  Probate. 

and  perhaps  add  to  it  by  the  proceeds  of  her 
own  industry,  and  then,  when  the  children 
should  grow  up,  she  might  give  them  as  much 
,as  her  maternal  affection  should  dictate. 

In  o^der  that  the  property  of  men  who  die, 
should  be  disposed  of  properly,  according  to 
law,  or  according  to  the  will,  if  any  will  be 
made,  it  is  required  that  soon  after  the  death 
of  any  person  takes  place,  the  state  of  the  case 
should  be  reported  at  a  certain  public  office,  in 
stituted  to  attend  to  this  business.  There  is 
such  an  office  in  every  county  in  the  New 
England  states.  It  is  called  the  Probate  office. 
The  officer,  who  has  this  business  in  charge,  is 
called  the  Judge  of  Probate.  There  is  a  simi 
lar  system  in  force,  in  all  the  other  states  of  the 
Union,  though  the  officers  are  sometimes  called 
by  different  names  from  those  which  they  re 
ceive  in  New  England. 

Now,  while  Albert  was  lying  sick  upon  his 
bed,  he  was  occupied  a  great  deal  of  the  time, 
while  they  thought  that  he  was  asleep,  in  think 
ing  what  was  to  become  of  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren  in  case  he  should  die.  He  knew  very 
well  that  in  case  he  died  without  making  any 
will,  his  property  must  be  divided,  under  the  di 
rection  of  the  Judge  of  Probate,  and  one  part 


96 


Albert's  intentions  in  the  matter. 

of  it  be  kept  for  the  children,  while  Mary  Er- 
nkine  would  have  the  control  only  of  the  other 
part.  This  is  a  very  excellent  arrangement  in 
all  ordinary  cases,  so  that  the  law,  in  itself,  is  a 
?ery  good  law.  There  are,  however,  some 
cases,  which  are  exceptions,  and  Albert  thought 
that  Mary  Erskine's  case  was  one.  It  was 
owing,  in  a  great  measure,  to  her  prudence  and 
economy,  to  her  efficient  industry,  and  to  her 
contented  and  happy  disposition,  that  he  had 
been  able  to  acquire  any  property,  instead  of 
spending  all  that  he  earned,  like  Mr.  Gordon, 
as  fast  as  he  earned  it.  Then,  besides,  he  knew 
that  Mary  Erskine  would  act  as  conscientiously 
and  faithfully  for  the  benefit  of  the  children,  if 
the  property  was  all  her  own,  as  she  would  if  a 
part  of  it  was  theirs,  and  only  held  by  herself, 
for  safe  keeping,  as  their  guardian.  Whereas, 
*f  this  last  arrangement  went  into  effect,  he 
feared  that  it  would  make  her  great  trouble  to 
keep  the  accounts,  as  she  could  not  write,  not 
even  to  sign  her  name.  He  determined,  there 
fore,  to  make  a  will,  and  give  all  his  property, 
(jf  every  kind,  absolutely  to  her.  This  he  did, 
in  the  manner  described  in  the  last  chapter. 

The  law  invests  every  man  with  a  very  ab 
solute  power  in  respect  to  his  property,  author- 


CONSULTATIONS.  97 

The  execution  of  wills.  The  necessity  of  precaution. 

izing  him  to  make  any  disposition  of  it  what 
ever,  and  carrying  faithfully  into  effect,  after 
his  death,  any  wish  that  he  may  have  expressed 
m  regard  to  it,  as  his-deliberate  and  final  inten 
tion.  It  insists,  however,  that  there  should  be 
evidence  that  the  wish,  so  expressed,  is  really  a 
deliberate  and  final  act.  It  is  not  enough  that 
the  man  should  say  in  words  what  his  wishes 
are.  The  will  must  be  in  writing,  and  it  must 
be  signed  ;  or  if  the  sick  man  can  not  write,  he 
must  make  some  ma"k  with  the  pen,  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  paper,  to  stand  instead  of  a  signa 
ture,  and  to  show  that  he  considers  the  act. 
which  he  is  performing,  as  a  solemn  and  bind 
ing  transaction.  Nor  will  it  do  to  have  the 
will  executed  in  the  presence  of  only  one  wit 
ness ;  for  if  that  were  allowed,  designing  per 
sons  would  sometimes  persuade  a  sick  man, 
who  was  rich,  to  sign  a  will  which  they  them 
selves  had  written,  telling  him,  perhaps,  that  it 
was  only  a  receipt,  or  some  other  unimportant 
paper,  and  thus  inducing  him  to  convey  his 
property  in  a  way  that  he  did  not  intend.  The 
truth  is,  that  there  is  necessity  for  a  much  great 
er  degree  of  precautionary  form,  in  the  execu 
tion  of  a  will,  than  in  almost  any  other  transac 
tion  ;  for  as  the  man  himself  will  be  dead  ami 


98  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  invalidity  of  Albert's  will. 

gone  when  the  time  comes  for  carrying  the  will 
into  effect, — and  so  can  not  give  any  explanation 
of  his  designs,  it  is  necessary  to  make  them  ab 
solutely  clear  and  certain,  independently  of  him. 
It  was,  accordingly,  the  law,  in  the  state  where 
Mary  Erskine  lived,  that  there  should  be  three 
witnesses  present,  when  any  person  signed  a 
will ;  and  also  that  when  signing  the  paper,  the 
man  should  say  that  ke  knew  that  it  was  his 
will.  If  three  credible  persons  thus  attested 
the  reality  and  honesty  of  the  transaction,  it 
was  thought  sufficient,  in  all  ordinary  cases,  tc 
make  it  sure. 

Albert,  it  seems,  was  not  aware  how  many 
witnesses  were  required.  When  he  requested 
Mrs.  Bell  to  sign  his  will,  as  witness,  he  thought 
that  he  was  doing  all  that  was  necessary  to 
make  it  valid.  When,  however,  Mrs.  Bell,  after 
wards,  in  going  home,  met  Mr.  Keep  and  rela 
ted  to  him  the  transaction,  he  said  that  he  was 
afraid  that  the  will  was  not  good,  meaning  thai 
it  would  not  stand  in  law. 

The  thought  that  the  will  was  probably  not 
valid,  caused  Mrs.  Bell  a  considerable  degree 
of  anxiety  and  concern,  as  she  imagined  that 
its  failure  would  probably  cause  Mary  Erskine 
a  considerable  degree  of  trouble  and  embarrass- 


CONSULTATIONS.  99 

Provisions  for  the  support  of  children. 

ment,  though  she  did  not  know  precisely  how, 
She  supposed  that  the  children's  share  of  the 
property  must  necessarily  be  kept  separate  and 
untouched  until  they  grew  up,  and  that  in  the 
mean  time  their  mother  would  have  to  work 
vrery  hard  in  order  to  maintain  herself  and  them 
too.  But  this  is  not  the  law.  The  guardian 
of  children,  in  such  cases,  is  authorized  to  ex 
pend,  from  the  children's  share  of  property,  as 
much  as  is  necessary  for  their  maintenance 
while  they  are  children  ;  and  it  is  only  the  sur 
plus,  if  there  is  any,  which  it  is  required  of  her 
to  pay  over  to  them,  when  they  come  of  age. 
It  would  be  obviously  unjust,  in  cases  where 
children  themselves  have  property  left  them  by 
legacy,  or  falling  to  them  by  inheritance,  to 
compel  their  father  or  mother  to  toil  ten  or 
twenty  years  to  feed  and  clothe  them,  in  order 
that  they  might  have  their  property,  whole  and 
untouched,  when  they  come  of  age.  All  that 
the  law  requires  is  that  the  property  bequeathed 
to  children,  or  falling  to  them  by  inheritance, 
shall  always  be  exactly  ascertained,  and  an  ac 
count  of  it  put  upon  record  in  the  Probate 
office :  and  then,  that  a  guardian  shall  be  ap 
pointed,  who  shall  expend  only  so  much  of  it, 
while  the  children  are  young  as  is  necessary 


100  MARY   ERSKINE. 

Mrs.  Bell's  plans  for  Mary  Erskine. 

for  their  comfortable  support  and  proper  educa- 
tion ;  and  then,  when  they  come  of  age,  if 
there  is  any  surplus  left,  that  it  shall  be  paid 
over  to  them.  In  Mary  Erskine's  case,  these 
accounts  would,  of  course,  cause  her  some 
trouble,  but  it  would  make  but  little  difference 
in  the  end. 

Mrs.  Bell  spent  a  great  deal  of  time,  during 
jhe  day,  in  trying  to  think  what  it  would  be  best 
for  Mary  Evskine  to  do,  and  also  in  trying  to 
think  what  she  could  herself  do  for  her.  She, 
however,  made  very  little  progress  in  respect  to 
either  of  those  points.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
Mary  Erskine  could  not  move  into  the  new 
house,  and  attempt  to  carry  on  the  farm,  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  appeared  equally  out  of  the 
question  for  her  to  remain  where  she  was,  in 
her  lonesome  log  cabin.  She  might  move  into 
the  village,  or  to  some  house  nearer  the  village, 
but  what  should  she  do  in  that  case  for  a  liveli 
hood.  In  a  word,  the  more  that  Mrs.  Bell  reflect- 
ed  upon  the  subject,  the  more  at  a  loss  she  was. 

She  determined  to  go  and  see  Mary  Erskine 
after  dinner,  again,  as  the  visit  would  at  least 
be  a  token  of  kindness  and  sympathy,  even  if  it 
should  do  no  other  good.  She  arrived  at  the 
liouse  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  She 


10] 


Mrs.  Bell's  visit.  '     *     '  'Leila  anu 


found  Mary  Erskine  busily  at  work,  putting  the 
house  in  order,  and  rectifying  the  many  derange 
ments  which  sickness  and  death  always  occa 
sion.  Mary  Erskine  received  Mrs.  Bell  at  first 
with  a  cheerful  smile,  and  seemed,  to  all  appear 
ance,  as  contented  and  happy  as  usual.  The 
sight  of  Mrs.  Bell,  however,  recalled  forcibly  to 
her  mind  her  irremediable  loss,  and  overwhelm 
ed  her  heart,  again,  with  bitter  grief.  She  went 
to  the  window,  where  her  little  work-table  had 
been  placed,  and  throwing  herself  down  in  a 
chair  before  it,  she  crossed  her  arms  upon  the 
table,  laid  her  forehead  down  upon  them  in  an 
attitude  of  despair,  and  burst  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Bell  drew  up  toward  her  and  stood  by 
her  side  in  silence.  She  pitied  her  with  all  her 
heart,  but  she  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
comfort  her. 

Just  then  little  Bella  came  climbing  up  the 
steps,  from  the  stoop,  with  some  flowers  in  her 
hand,  which  she  ha<7  gathered  in  the  yard.  As 
soon  as  she  had  got  up  into  the  room  she  stood 
upon  her  feet  and  went  dancing  along  toward 
the  baby,  who  was  playing  upon  the  floor,  sing 
ing  as  she  danced.  She  gave  the  baby  the 
(lowers,  and  then,  seeing  that  her  mother  was  in 
trouble,  she  came  up  toward  the  place  and  stood 


102  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mrs.  fiell's  advice. 


still  a  moment,  with  a  countenance  expressive 
of  great  concern.  She  put  her  arm  around  her 
mother's  neck,  saying  in  a  very  gentle  and  sooth 
ing  tone, 

"•Mother  !  what  is  the  matter,  mother  ?" 

Mary  Erskine  liberated  one  of  her  arms,  and 
clasped  Bella  with  it  fondly,  but  did  not  raise 
her  head,  or  answer. 

"  Go  and  get  some  flowers  for  your  mother," 
said  Mrs.  Bell,  "like  those  which  you  got  for  the 
baby." 

"  Well/'  said  Bella,  "  I  will."  So  she  turned 
away,  and  went  singing  and  dancing  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Mary/'  said  Mrs.  Bell.  "  I  wish  that  you 
would  shut  up  this  house  and  take  the  children 
and  come  to  my  house,  at  least  for  a  while, 
until  you  can  determine  what  to  do." 

Mary  Erskine  shook  her  head,  but  did  not 
reply.  She  seemed,  however,  to  be  regaining 
her  composure.  Presently  she  raised  her  head, 
smoothed  down  her  hair,  which  was  very  soft 
and  beautiful,  readjusted  her  dress,  and  sat  up, 
looking  out  at  the  window. 

"  If  you  stay  here,"  continued  Mrs.  BeL, 
"  you  will  only  spend  your  time  in  useless  and 
hopeless  grief." 


CONSULTATIONS,  103 

Mary  Erskine  postpones  forming  any  plan. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  J  am  not  going 
to  do  any  such  a  thing." 

"  Have  you  begun  to  think  at  all  what  you 
shall  do  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell. 

"No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "When  any 
great  thing  happens,  I  always  have  to  wait  a 
little  while  till  I  get  accustomed  to  knowing 
that  it  has  happened,  before  I  can  determine 
what  to  do  about  it.  It  seems  as  if  I  did  not 
more  than  half  know  yet,  that  Albert  is  dead. 
Every  time  the  door  opens  I  almost  expect  to 
see  him  come  in." 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  shall  move  to  the 
new  house  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  see  that  I  can't 
do  that.  I  don't  wish  to  move  there,  either, 
now." 

"  There's  one  thing,"  continued  Mrs.  Bell 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "  that  perhaps  I  ought 
to  tell  you,  though  it  is  rather  bad  news  for 
you.  Mr.  Keep  says  that  he  is  afraid  that 
Lie  will,  which  Albert  made,  is  not  good  in 
law.." 

"Not  good!  Why  not?"  asked  Mary  Er 
skine. 

"Why  because  there  is  only  one  witness 
The  law  requires  that  there  should  be  three 


104  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  will.  Mrs.  Bell  read3  it  to  Mary  Erskine. 

witnesses,  so  as  to  be  sure  that  Albert  really 
signed  the  will." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  One  witness 
is  enough,  I  am  sure.  The  Judge  of  Probate 
knows  you,  and  he  will  believe  you  as  cer 
tainly  as  he  would  a  dozen  witnesses." 

"  But  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "  that  it  does 
not  depend  upon  the  Judge  of  Probate.  It  de 
pends  upon  the  law." 

Mary  Erskine  was  silent.  Presently  she 
opened  her  drawer  and  took  out  the  will  and 
looked  at  it  mysteriously.  She  could  not  read 
a  word  of  it. 

"Read  it  to  me,  Mrs.  Bell,"  said  she,  hand 
ing  the  paper  to  Mrs.  Bell. 

Mrs.  Bell  read  as  follows  : 

"  I  bequeath  all  my  property  to  my  wife,  Mary  Erskine 
Albert  Forester.  Witness,  Mary  Bell." 

"I  am  sure  that  is  all  right,"  said  Mary  Er 
skine.  "  It  is  very  plain,  and  one  witness  is 
enough  Besides,  Albert  would  know  how  it 
ought  to  be  done." 

"  But  then,"  she  continued  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  he  was  very  sick  and  feeble.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  think.  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  very 
sorry  if  it  is  not  a  good  will,  for  if  I  do  not 


CONSULTATIONS.  105 


A  melancholy  prospect.  The  value  of  the  property. 

have  the  farm  and  the  stock,  I  don't  know  what 
I  shall  do  with  my  poor  children." 

Mary  Erskine  had  a  vague  idea  that  if  the 
will  should  prove  invalid,  she  and  her  children 
would  lose  the  property,  in  some  way  or  other, 
entirely, — though  she  did  not  know  precisely 
how.  After  musing  upon  this  melancholy  pros 
pect  a  moment  she  asked, 

"  Should  not  I  have  any  of  the  property,  if 
the  will  proves  not  to  be  good  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "  you  will  have  a 
considerable  part  of  it,  at  any  rate." 

"  How  much  ?"  asked  Mary  Erskine. 

"Why  about  half,  I  believe,"  replied  Mrs. 
Bell. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  apparently  very 
much  relieved.  "  That  will  do  very  well.  Half 
will  be  enough.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  prop 
erty.  Albert  told  me  that  the  farm  and  the 
new  house  are  worth  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
the  stock  is  worth  full  three  hundred  more. 
And  Albert  does  not  owe  any  thing  at  all." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell.  "You  will  have 
halt.  Either  half  or  a  third,  I  forget  exactly 
which." 

"  And  what  becomes  of  the  rest?"  asked  Mary 
Erskine. 


tOG  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine's  solicitude  entirely  relieved. 

"Why  the  rest  goes  to  the  children,"  said 
Mrs.  Bell. 

"  To  the  children !"  repeated  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  you  will  have  to  be  ap 
pointed  guardian,  and  take  care  of  it  for  them, 
and  carry  in  your  account,  now  and  then,  to  the 
Judge  of  Probate." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  her  countenance 
brightening  up  with  an  expression  of  great  re 
lief  and  satisfaction.  "  That  is  just  the  same 
thing.  If  it  is  to-go  to  the  children,  and  I  am  to 
take  care  of  it  for  them,  it  is  just  the  same 
thing.  I  don't  care  any  thing  about  the  will 
at  all." 

So  saying,  she  threw  the  paper  down  upon 
*he  table,  as  if  it  was  of  no  value  whatever. 

"  But  there's  one  thing,"  she  said  again,  after 
pausing  a  few  minutes.  "  I  can't  keep  any  ac 
counts.  I  can  not  even  write  my  name." 

"That  is  no  matter,"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 
"  There  will  be  but  little  to  do  about  the  ac 
counts,  and  it  is  easy  to  get  somebody  to  do 
that  for  you." 

"  I  wish  I  had  learned  to  write,"  said  Mary 
Erskine. 

Mrs.  Bell  said  nothing,  but  in  her  heart  she 
wished  so  too 


CONSULTATIONS.  107 

Learning  to  write.  A  burst  of  grief. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  could  possibly  learn 
now  ?"  asked  Mary  Erskine. 

"Why, — I  don't  know, — perhaps,  if  you  had 
any  one  to  teach  you." 

"  Thomas  might  teach  me,  perhaps/'  said 
Mary  Erskine,  doubtfully.  Then,  in  a  mo 
ment  she  added  again,  in  a  desponding  tone, 
— "  but  I  don't  know  how  long  he  will  stay 
here." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  at  all  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Bell,  after  a  short  pause,  "  what  you  shall  con 
clude  to  do." 

"  No,"  replied  Mary  Erskine,  "  not  at  all.  I 
am  going  on,  just  as  I  am  now,  for  some  days, 
without  perplexing  myself  at  all  about  it.  And 
I  am  not  going  to  mourn  and  make  myself  mis 
erable.  I  am  going  to  make  myself  as  con 
tented  and  happy  as  I  can,  with  my  work  and 
my  children." 

Here  Mary  Erskine  suddenly  laid  her  head 
down  upon  her  arms  again,  on  the  little  work- 
table  before  her,  and  burst  into  tears.  After 
sobbing  convulsively  a  few  minutes  she  rose, 
hastily  brushed  the  tears  away  with  her  hand 
kerchief,  and  went  toward  the  door.  She  then 
took  the  water  pail,  which  stood  upon  a  bench 
near  the  door,  and  said  that  she  was  going  to  get 


108  MARY   ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine's  request. 


some  water,  at  the  spring,  for  tea,  and  that  she 
would  be  back  in  a  moment.  She  returned 
very  soon,  with  a  countenance  entirely  se 
rene. 

"  1  have  been  trying  all  day,"  said  Mrs.  Bell, 
"  to  think  of  something  that  I  could  do  for  you, 
to  help  you  or  to  relieve  you  in  some  way  or 
other  ;  but  I  can  not  think  of  any  thing  at  all 
that  I  can  do." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  there  is  one 
thing  that  you  could  do  for  me,  that  would  be  a 
very  great  kindness,  a  very  great  kindness  in 
deed." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  think  it  is  too 
much  for  me  to  ask." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "  what  is  it  ?" 

Mary  Erskine  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
said, 

"  To  let  Mary  Bell  come  and  stay  here  with 
me,  a  few  days." 

"  Do  you  mean  all  night,  too  ?"  asked  Mrs, 


"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  ''  all  the  time." 
"  Why,  you  have  got  two  children  to  take 
care  of  now,"  replied  Mrs.  Bell,  "  and  nobody 
to  help  you.     I  should  have  thought  that  you 


CONSULTATIONS.  IOU 


Mrs.  Bell  assents. 


would  have  sooner  asked  me  to  take  Bella 
home  with  me." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I  should  like  to 
have  Mary  Bell  here,  very  much,  for  a  few 
days." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "  she  shall  certainly 
come.  I  will  send  her,  to-morrow  morning." 


110  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine's  bible.  Family  devotk 


CHAPTER    VI. 
MARY    BELL    IN    THE    WOODS. 

MARY  ERSKINE  had  a  bible  in  her  house, 
although  she  could  not  read  it.  When  Albert 
was  alive  he  was  accustomed  to  read  a  chapter 
every  evening,  just  before  bed-time,  and  then 
he  and  Mary  Erskine  would  kneel  down  to 
gether,  by  the  settle  which  stood  in  the  corner, 
while  he  repeated  his  evening  prayer.  This 
short  season  of  devotion  was  always  a  great 
source  of  enjoyment  to  Mary  Erskine.  If  she 
was  tired  and  troubled,  it  soothed  and  quieted 
her  mind.  If  she  was  sorrowful,  it  comforted 
her.  If  she  was  happy,  it  seemed  to  make  hei 
happiness  more  deep  and  unalloyed. 

Mary  Erskine  could  not  read  the  bible,  but 
she  could  repeat  a  considerable  number  of  texts 
and  verses  from  it,  and  she  knew,  too,  the 
prayer,  which  Albert  had  been  accustomed  to 
offer,  almost  by  heart.  So  after  Mrs.  Bell  had 
gone  home,  as  described  in  the  last  chapter,  and 
after  she  herself  had  undressed  the  children  and 
put  them  to  bed,  and  had  finished  all  the  other 


MARY    BELL    IN   THE    WCODS.      11 


Mary  Erskine'a  evening  prayer.  Mary  Bell. 

labors  and  duties  of  the  day,  she  took  the  bible 
down  from  its  shelf,  and  seating  herself  upon 
the  settle,  so  as  to  see  by  the  light  of  the  fire, 
as  Albert  had  been  accustomed  to  do,  she 
opened  the  book,  and  then  began  to  repeat  such 
verses  as  she  could  remember.  At  length  she 
closed  the  book,  and  laying  it  down  upon  the 
seat  of  the  settle,  in  imitation  of  Albert's  cus 
tom,  she  kneeled  down  before  it,  and  repeated 
the  prayer.  The  use  of  the  bible  itself,  in  this 
service,  was  of  course  a  mere  form  : — but  there 
is  sometimes  a  great  deal  of  spiritual  good  to  be 
derived  from  a  form,  when  the  heart  is  in  it,  to 
give  it  meaning  and  life.  Mary  Erskine  went 
to  bed  comforted  and  happy  ;  and  she  slept 
peacefully  through  each  one  of  the  three  periods 
of  repose,  into  which  the  care  of  an  infant  by  a 
mother  usually  divides  the  night. 

In  the  morning,  the  first  thought  which  came 
into  her  mind  was,  that  Mary  Bell  was  coming 
to  see  her.  She  anticipated  the  visit  from  her 
former  charge  with  great  pleasure.  She  had 
had  Mary  Bell  under  her  charge  from  early  in 
fancy,  and  she  loved  her,  accordingly,  almost  as 
much  as  if  she  were  her  own  child.  Besides,  as 
Mary  Bell  had  grown  up  she  had  become  a  very 
attractive  and  beautiful  child,  so  kind  to  all,  so 


112  MARY    ERSKINE. 

Mary  Bell  does  uot  appear.  Mary  Erskine's  disappointment. 

considerate,  so  gentle,  so  active  and  intelligent, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  docile,  and  so  quiet, 
that  she  was  a  universal  favorite  wherever  she 
went.  Mary  Erskine  was  full  of  joy  at  the  idea 
of  having  her  come  and  spend  several  days  and 
nights  too,  at  her  house,  and  she  was  impatient 
lor  the  time  to  arrive  when  she  might  begin  to 
expect  her.  At  eight  o'clock,  she  began  to  go 
often  to  the  door  to  look  down  the  road.  At 
nine,  she  began  to  feel  uneasy.  At  ten,  she  put 
on  her  hood  and  went  down  the  road,  almost  to 
the  corner,  to  meet  her — looking  forward  in 
tensely  all  the  way,  hoping  at  every  turn  to  see 
her  expected  visitor  advancing  along  the  path. 
She  went  on  thus  until  she  came  in  sight  of  the 
corner,  without  seeing  or  hearing  any  thing  of 
Mary  Bell  ;  and  then  she  was  compelled  to  re 
turn  home  alone,  disappointed  and  sad.  She 
waited  dinner  from  twelve  until  one,  but  no 
Mary  Bell  appeared.  Mary  Erskine  then  con 
cluded  that  something  had  happened  to  detain 
her  expected  visitor  at  home,  and  that  she  migl.t 
be  disappointed  of  the  visit  altogether.  8t  il 
she  could  not  but  hope  that  Marv  would  come 
in  the  course  of  the  afternoon.  The  hours  ;>f 
the  afternoon,  however,  passed  tediously  away, 
and  the  sun  began  to  decline  toward  the  west , 


MARY  BELL  IN   THE    WOODS.      113 

Mary  Bell  receives  her  invitation.  An  opportunity. 

still  there  was  no  Mary  Bell.     The  cause  of  her 
detention  will  now  be  explained. 

When  Mary  Bell  came  down  to  breakfast,  on 
Hie  morning  after  her  mother's  visit  to  Mary 
Erskine,  her  mother  told  her,  as  she  came  into 
the  room,  that  she  had  an  invitation  for  her  to 
go  out  to  Mary  Erskine's  that  day. 

"And  may  I  .go?"  asked  Mary  Bell. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  think  I  shall  let 
you  go." 

"  I  am  so  glad  !"  said  Mary  Bell,  clapping  her 
hands. 

"  Mary  Erskine  wishes  to  have  you  stay  there 
several  days,"  continued  her  mother. 

Mary  Bell  began  to  look  a  little  sober  again 
She  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  should  be  will 
ing  to  be  absent  from  her  mother,  for  so  many 
days. 

"Could  not  1  come  home  every  night  ?;>  said 
she. 

"  Why,  she  wishes,"  answered  Mrs.  Bell,  <f  to 
have  you  stay  there  all  the  time,  day  and  night, 
for  several  days.  It  is  an  opportunity  fci  you 
to  do  some  good.  You  could  not  do  Mary  Er 
skine  any  good  by  giving  her  your  money,  for 

she  has  got  plenty  of  money  ;  nor  by  carrying 
H 


114  MARYERSKINE. 

Preparations.  The  road  to  Mary  Erskine'sT 

her  any  thing  good  to  eat,  for  her  house  is  full 
of  abundance,  and  she  knows  as  well  how  to 
make  good  things  as  any  body  in  town.  But 
you  can  do  her  a  great  deal  of  good  by  going 
and  staying  with  her,  and  keeping  her  company. 
Perhaps  you  can  help  her  a  little,  in  taking  caro 
of  the  children." 

"  Well."  said  Mary  Bell,  "  I  should  like  to  go/' 
So  Mrs.  Bell  dressed  Mary  neatly,  for  the 
walk,  gave  her  a  very  small  tin  pail,  with  two 
oranges  in  it  for  Mary  Erskine's  children,  and 
then  sent  out  word  to  the  hired  man,  whose 
name  was  Joseph,  to  harness  the  horse  into  the 
wagon.  When  the  wagon  was  ready,  she  di 
rected  Joseph  to  carry  Mary  to  the  corner,  and 
see  that  she  set  out  upon  the  right  road  there, 
toward  Mary  Erskine's  house.  It  was  only 
about  half  a  mile  from  the  corner  to  the  house, 
and  the  road,  though  crooked,  stony,  and  rough, 
was  very  plain,  and  Mary  Bell  had  often  walked 
over  it  alone. 

There  was,  in  fact,  only  one  place  where  there 
could  be  any  danger  of  Mary  Bell's  losing  her 
way,  and  that  was  at  a  point  about  midway  be- 
tween  the  corner  and  Mary  Erskine's  house, 
where  a  road  branched  off  to  the  right,  and  led 
into  the  woods.  There  was  a  large  pine -tret* 


MARY  BELL  IN   THE  WOODS.      115 


Mary  Bell  left  to  take  her  walk  alone. 


at  this  point,  which  Mary  Bell  remembered 
well ;  and  she  knew  thai  she  must  take  the  left- 
/iand  road  when  she  reached  this  tree.  There 
were  various  little  paths,  at  other  places,  but 
none  that  could  mislead  her. 

When  Joseph,  at  length,  set  Mary  Bell  down 
in  the  path  at  the  corner,  she  stood  still,  upon  a 
flat  rock  by  the  side  of  the  road,  to  see  him  turn 
the  wagon  and  set  out  upon  his  return. 

"  Good-bye,  Joseph,"  said  she.  "  I  am  going 
to  be  gone  several  days." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Joseph,  turning  to  look 
round  at  Mary  Bell,  as  the  wagon  slowly  moved 
away. 

"Bid  mother  good-bye/'  said  Mary  Bell, — 
"  and  Joseph,  don't  you  forget  to  water  my  ge 
ranium." 

"  No,"  said  Joseph,  "  and  don't  you  forget  to 
take  the  left-hand  road." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Bell. 

She  felt  a  slight  sensation  of  lonesomeness,  to 
be  left  there  in  solitude  at  the  entrance  of  a  dark 
and  somber  wood,  especially  when  she  reflected 
that  it  was  to  be  several  days  before  she  should 
sea  her  mother  again.  But  then,  calling  up  to 
her  mind  a  vivid  picture  of  Mary  Erskirie/s 
house,  and  of  the  pleasure  that  she  should  enjoy 


JIG  M,\RY     EllSKINE. 

The  birds  in  the  woods.  The  gray  squirrel. 


there,  in  playing  with  Bella  and  the  baby,  she 
turned  toward  the  pathway  into  the  woods,  and 
walked  resolutely  forward,  swinging  her  pail  in 
her  hand  and  singing  a  song. 

There  were  a  great  many  birds  in  the  woods , 
some  were  hopping  about  upon  the  rocks  and 
bushes  by  the  road-side.  Others  were  singing 
in  solitary  places,  upon  the  tops  of  tall  trees  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  their  notes  being  heard 
at  intervals,  in  various  directions,  as  if  one  was 
answering  another,  to  beguile  the  solemn  lone 
liness  of  the  woods.  The  trees  were  very  tall, 
and  Mary  Bell,  as  she  looked  up  from  her  deep 
and  narrow  pathway,  and  saw  the  lofty  tops 
rocking  to  and  fro  with  a  very  slow  and  gentle 
motion,  as  they  were  waved  by  the  wind,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  they  actually  touched  the 
sky. 

At  one  time  she  heard  the  leaves  rustling,  by 
the  side  of  the  road,  and  looking  in  under  the 
trees,  she  saw  a  gray  squirrel,  just  in  the  act  of 
leaping  up  from  the  leaves  upon  the  ground  to 
ihe  end  of  a  log.  As  soon  as  he  :iad  gained 
this  footing,  he  stopped  and  looked  round  at 
Mary  Bell.  Mary  Bell  stopped  too ;  each  looked 
at  the  other  for  several  seconds,  in  silence, — the 
child  with  an  expression  of  curiosity  and  pleas- 


MARY    BELL   IN   THE   WOODS.      117 


The  butterflies.  Mary  Bell  stops  t:>  rest. 

ure  upon  her  countenance,  and  the  squirrel  with 
one  of  wonder  and  fear  upon  his.  Mary  Bell 
made  a  sudden  motion  toward  him  with  her 
hand  to  frighten  him  a  little.  It  did  frighten 
him.  He  turned  off  and  ran  along  the  log  as 
fast  as  he  could  go,  until  he  reached  the  end  of 
it,  and  disappeared. 

"  Poor  Bobbin,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  I  am  sorry 
that  I  frightened  you  away." 

A  few  steps  farther  on  in  her  walk,  Mary  Bell 
came  to  a  place  where  a  great  number  of  yel 
low  butterflies  had  settled  down  together  in  the 
path.  Most  of  them  were  still,  but  a  few  were 
fluttering  about,  to  find  good  places. 

"  Oh,  what  pretty  butterflies  !"  said  Mary  Bell. 
"  They  have  been  flying  about,  I  suppose,  till 
they  have  got  tired,  and  have  stopped  to  rest. 
But  if  I  were  a  butterfly,  I  would  rest  upon 
flowers,  and  not  upon  the  ground." 

Mary  Bell  paused  and  looked  upon  the  but 
terflies  a  moment,  and  then  said, 

"  And  now  how  shall  I  get  by  ?  I  am  sure  I 
.iori't  want  to  tread  upon  these  butterflies.  I 
will  sit  down  here,  myself,  on  a,  stone,  and  wait 
till  they  get  rested  and  fly  away.  Besides.  I  am 
tired  myself,  and  /  shall  get  rested  too." 

Just  as  she  took  her  seat  she  saw  that  theie 


118  MARY   ERSKINE. 

The  bye-path. Mary  Bell'a  mistakeT 

was  a  little  path,  which  diverged  here  from  the 
main  road,  and  turned  into  the  woods  a  little 
way,  seeming  to  come  back  again  after  a  short 
distance.  There  were  many  such  little  paths, 
here  and  there,  running  parallel  to  the  main 
road.  They  were  made  by  the  cows,  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  when  the  roads  were  wet,  to 
avoid  the  swampy  places.  These  places  were 
now  all  dry,  and  the  bye-paths  were  consequent 
ly  of  no  use,  though  traces  of  them  remained. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Bell.  "  I  will  not  stop  to 
rest ;  I  am  not  very  tired ;  so  I  will  go  around 
by  this  little  path.  It  will  come  into  the  road 
again  very  soon." 

Mary  Bell's  opinion  would  have  been  just,  in 
respect  to  any  other  path  but  this  one  ;  but  it  so 
happened,  very  unfortunately  for  her,  that  now, 
although  not  aware  of  it,  she  was  in  fact  very 
near  the  great  pine-tree,  where  the  road  into  the 
woods  branched  off,  and  the  path  which  she 
was  determining  to  take,  though  it  commenced 
»n  the  main  road  leading  to  Mary  Erskine's. 
did  not  return  to  it  again,  but  after  passing,  b) 
a  circuitous  and  devious  course,  through  the 
bushes  a  little  way,  ended  in  the  branch  road 
which  led  into  the  woods,  at  a  short  distance 
beyond  the  pine-tree. 


MARY   BELL  IN   THE   WOODS       119 

Mary  Bell  goes  astray. 

Mary  Bell  was  not  aware  of  this  state  of 
things,  but  supposed,  without  doubt,  that  the 
path  would  come  out  again  into  the  same  road 
that  it  left,  and  that  she  could  pass  round 
through  it,  and  so  avoid  disturbing  the  butter 
flies.  She  thought,  indeed,  it  might  possibly  be 
that  the  path  would  not  come  back  at  all,  but 
would  lose  itself  in  the  woods ;  and  to  guard 
against  this  danger,  she  determined  that  after 
going  on  for  a  very  short  distance,  if  she  found 
that  it  did  not  come  out  into  the  road  again,  she 
would  come  directly  back.  The  idea  of  its 
coming  out  into  a  wrong  road  did  not  occur  to 
her  mind  as  a  possibility. 

She  accordingly  entered  the  path,  and  after 
proceeding  in  it  a  little  way  she  was  quite 
pleased  to  see  it  coming  out  again  into  what 
she  supposed  was  the  main  road.  Dismissing, 
now,  all  care  and  concern,  she  walked  forward  in 
a  very  light-hearted  and  happy  manner.  The 
road  was  very  similar  in  its  character  to  the  one 
which  she  ought  to  have  taken,  so  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  appearances  around  her  to 
lead  her  to  suppose  that  she  was  wrong.  She 
had,  moreover,  very  little  idea  of  measures  of 
time,  and  still  less  of  distance,  and  thus  she 
went  on  for  more  than  an  hour  before  she  be- 


120  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  opening  in  the  woods.  No  house  to  be  seen 

gan  to  wonder  why  she  did  not  get  to  Mary 
Erskine's. 

She  began  to  suspect,  then,  that  she  had  in 
some  way  or  other  lost  the  right  road.  She, 
however,  went  on,  looking  anxiously  about  for 
indications  of  an  approach  to  the  farm,  until 
at  length  she  saw  signs  of  an  opening  in  the 
woods,  at  some  distance  before  her.  She  con 
cluded  to  go  on  until  she  came  to  this  opening, 
and  if  she  could  not  tell  where  she  was  by  the 
appearance  of  the  country  there,  she  would  go 
back  again  by  the  road  she  came. 

The  opening,  when  she  reached  it,  appeared 
to  consist  of  a  sort  of  pasture  land,  undulating 
in  its  surface,  and  having  thickets  of  trees  and 
bushes  scattered  over  it,  here  and  there.  There 
was  a  small  elevation  in  the  land,  at  a  little  dis 
tance  from  the  place  where  Mary  Bell  came 
out,  and  she  thought  that  she  would  go  to  the 
top  of  this  elevation,  and  look  for  Mary  Er 
skine's  house,  all  around.  She  accordingly  did 
so,  but  neither  Mary  Erskine's  house  nor  any 
other  human  habitation  was  anywhere  to  be 
seen. 

She  sat  down  upon  a  smooth  stone,  which 
was  near  her,  feeling  tired  and  thirsty,  ana 
beginning  to  be  somewhat  anxious  in  respect 


MARY  BELL   IN   THE    WOODS.      121 

Mary  Bell  concludes  to  return.  The  spring. 

to  her  situation.  She  thought,  however,  that 
there  was  no  great  danger,  for  her  mother 
would  certainly  send  Joseph  out  into  the  woods 
to  find  her,  as  soon  as  she  heard  that  she  was 
lost.  She  concluded,  at  first,  to  wait  where  she 
was  until  Joseph  should  come,  but  on  second 
thoughts,  she  concluded  to  go  back  by  the  road 
which  had  led  her  to  the  opening,  and  so,  per 
haps  meet  him  on  the  way.  She  was  very 
thirsty,  and  wished  very  much  that  one  of  the 
oranges  in  the  pail  belonged  to  her,  for  she 
would  have  liked  to  eat  one  very  much  indeed 
But  they  were  not  either  of  them  hers.  One 
belonged  to  Bella,  and  the  other  to  the  baby. 

She  walked  back  again  to  the  woods,  intend 
ing  to  return  toward  the  corner,  by  the  road 
in  which  she  came,  but  now  she  could  not  find 
the  entrance  to  it.  She  wandered  for  some 
time,  this  way  and  that,  along  the  margin  of  the 
wood,  but  could  find  no  road.  She,  however, 
at  length  found  something  which  she  liked  bet- 
ter.  It  was  a  beautiful  spring  of  cool  water, 
bubbling  up  from  between  the  rocks  on  the  side 
of  a  little  hill.  She  sat  down  by  the  side  of 
this  spring,  took  off  the  cover  from  her  little 
pail,  took  out  the  oranges  and  laid  them  down 
carefully  in  a  little  nook  where  they  would  not 


122  •  MARY   ERSKINE. 

Raspberries. Mary  Bell  calls  for  help. 

roll  away,  and  then  using  the  pail  for  a  dipper, 
she  dipped  up  some  water,  and  had  an  excellent 
drink. 

"  What  a  good  spring  this  is !"  said  she  to 
herself.  "  It  is  as  good  as  Mary  Erskine's." 

It  was  the  time  of  the  year  in  which  raspber 
ries  were  ripe,  and  Mary  Bell,  in  looking  around 
her  from  her  seat  near  the  spring,  saw  at  a  dis 
tance  a  place  which  appeared  as  if  there  were 
raspberry  bushes  growing  there. 

"  I  verily  believe  that  there  are  some  rasp 
berries,"  said  she.  "I  will  go  and  see;  if  I 
could  only  find  plenty  of  raspberries,  it  would 
be  all  that  I  should  want." 

The  bushes  proved  to  be  raspberry  bushes, 
as  Mary  had  supposed,  and  she  found  them 
loaded  with  fruit.  She  ate  of  them  abundantly; 
and  was  very  much  refreshed.  She  would 
have  filled  her  pail  besides,  so  as  to  have  some 
to  take  along  with  her,  but  she  had  no  place  to 
put  the  oranges,  except  within  the  pail. 

It  was  now  about  noon ;  the  sun  was  hot, 
and  Mary  Bell  began  to  be  pretty  tired.  She 
wished  that  they  would  come  for  her.  She 
climbed  up  upon  a  large  log  which  lay  among 
the  bushes,  and  called  as  loud  as  she  could, 

"  Mary  Erskine  !  Mary  ErsHne  !" 


MARY  BELL  IN  THE   WOQJS.       123 

A  resting  place.  Mary  Bell's  prudent  resolutions. 

Then  after  pausing  a  moment,  and  listening 
n  vain  for  an  answer,  she  renewed  her  call, 

"Thorn— as!    Thorn— as  I" 

Then  again,  after  another  pause, 

«/0 — sepk  !  Jo — seph  /" 

She  listened  a  long  time,  but  heard  nothing 
except  the  singing  of  the  birds,  and  the  sighing 
of  the  wind  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees  in  the 
neighboring  forests. 

She  began  to  feel  very  anxious  and  very 
lonely.  She  descended  from  the  log,  and  walk 
ed  along  till  she  got  out  of  the  bushes.  She 
came  to  a  place  where  there  were  rocks,  with 
smooth  surfaces  of  moss  and  grass  among  them. 
She  found  a  shady  place  among  these  rocks, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  moss.  She  laid  her 
head  down  upon  her  arm  and  began  to  weep 
bitterly. 

Presently  she  raised  her  head  again,  and  en 
deavored  to  compose  herself,  saying, 

"  But  I  must  not  cry.  I  must  be  patient,  and 
wait  till  they  come.  I  am  very  tired,  but  1 
must  not  go  to  sleep,  for  then  I  shall  not  heai 
them  when  they  come.  I  will  lay  my  head 
down,  but  I  will  keep  my  eyes  open." 

She  laid  her  head  down  accordingly  upon  a 
mossy  mound,  and  notwithstanding  her  resolu- 


124  MARY  ERSKINE. 

A  bell  in  the  distance.  Queen  Bess. 

Mon  to  keep  her  eyes  open,  in  ten  minutes  she 
was  fast  asleep. 

She  slept  very  soundly  for  more  than  two 
h  )urs.  She  was  a  little  frightened  when  she 
awoke,  to  find  that  she  had  been  sleeping,  and 
she  started  up  and  climbed  along  upon  a  rock 
which  was  near  by,  until  she  gained  a  project 
ing  elevation,  and  here  she  began  to  listen  again. 

She  heard  the  distant  tinkling  of  a  bell. 

"  Hark,"  said  she.  "  I  hear  a  bell.  It  is  out 
that  way.  I  wonder  what  it  is.  I  will  go  there 
and  see/' 

So  taking  up  her  pail  very  carefully,  she 
walked  along  in  the  direction  where  she  had 
heard  the  bell.  She  stopped  frequently  to  lis 
ten.  Sometimes  she  could  hear  it,  and  some 
times  she  could  not.  She,  however,  steadily 
persevered,  though  she  encountered  a  great 
many  obstacles  on  the  way.  Sometimes  there 
were  wet  places,  which  it  was  very  hard  to  get 
round.  At  other  times,  there  were  dense  thick 
ets,  which  she  had  to  scramble  through,  or  rock* 
over  which  she  had  to  climb,  either  up  or  down. 
The  sound,  however,  of  the  bell,  came  nearer 
and  nearer. 

"  I  verily  believe,"  said  she  at  length,  "  thai 
it  is  Queen  Bess." 


M\RY   BELL   IN  THE   WOODS.       125 


Mary  Erskine's  cows. 


Queen  Bess  was  one  of  Mary  Erskine's 
cows. 

The  idea  that  the  sound  which  she  was  fol 
lowing  might  possibly  be  Queen  Bess's  bell, 
gave  her  great  courage.  She  was  well  ac 
quainted  with  Queen  Bess,  having  often  gone 
out  to  see  Mary  Erskine  milk  her,  with  the 
other  cows.  She  had  even  tried  many  times 
to  milk  her  herself,  Mary  Erskine  having  fre 
quently  allowed  her  to  milk  enough,  in  a  mug,  to 
provide  herself  with  a  drink. 

"  I  hope  it  is  Queen  Bess,"  said  Mary  Bell. 
"  She  knows  me,  and  she  will  give  me  a  drink 
of  her  rnilk,  I  am  sure." 

Mary  Bell  proved  to  be  right  in  her  conjec 
ture.  It  was  Queen  Bess.  She  was  feeding 
very  quietly,  Mary  Erskine's  other  cows  being 
near,  some  cropping  the  grass  and  some  brows 
ing  upon  the  bushes.  Queen  Bess  raised  her 
head  and  looked  at  Mary  Bell  with  a  momen 
tary  feeling  of  astonishment,  wondering  how 
she  came  there,  and  then  put  down  her  head 
again  and  resumed  her  feeding. 

"Now,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "I  shall  certainly 
get  home  again,  for  I  shall  stay  with  you  until 
Thomas  comes  up  after  the  cows.  He  will 
find  you  by  your  bell.  And  now  I  am  going  to 


126 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Milking  in  the  pasture. 


put  these  oranges  down  upon  the  grass,  and 
milk  some  milk  into  this  pail." 

So  Mary  Bell  put  the  oranges  in  a  safe  place 
(!pon  the  grass,  and  then  went  cautiously  up  to 
the  side  of  the  cow,  and  attempted  to  milk  her. 
But.  it  is  very  difficult  to  milk  a  cow  while  she 
is  grazing  in  a  pasture.  She  is  not  inclined  to 
stand  still,  but  advances  all  the  time,  slowly,  step 
by  step,  making  it  very  difficult  to  do  any  thing 


MARY    BELL    A.ND   QUEEN   BESS. 


at   milking.      Mary   Bell,  however,  succeeded 
very  well.     She  was  so  thirsty  that  she  did  not 


MARY  BELL  IN  THE  WOODS.       127 

Wild  flowers.  Thomas  comes  for  the  cows, 

wait  to  get  a  great  deal  at  a  time,  but  as  soon 
as  she  had  two  or  three  spoonfuls  in  the  pail, 
she  stopped  to  drink  it.  In  this  manner,  by 
dint  of  a  great  deal  of  labor  and  pains,  she  suo 
ceeded,  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  in  get* 
ting  as  much  as  she  wanted. 

She  remained  in  company  with  the  cows  all 
the  afternoon.  Sometimes  she  would  wander 
from  them  a  little  way  to  gather  raspberries, 
and  then  she  would  creep  up  cautiously  to 
Queen  Bess,  and  get  another  drink  of  milk. 
When  she  had  thus  had  as  many  raspberries, 
and  as  much  milk,  as  she  wished,  she  amused 
herself  for  some  time  in  gathering  a  bouquet  of 
wild  flowers  to  give  to  Mary  Erskine  on  her 
return.  The  time,  being  thus  filled  up  with  use 
ful  occupation,  passed  pleasantly  and  rapidly 
along,  and  at  length,  when  the  sun  was  nearly 
ready  to  go  down,  she  heard  a  distant  voice 
shouting  to  the  cows.  It  was  Thomas,  coming 
to  drive  them  home. 

Thomas  was  of  course  greatly  astonished  to 
find  Mary  Bell  in  the  woods,  and  his  astonish 
ment  was  not  at  all  diminished  at  hearing  her 
story  He  offered  to  carry  her,  in  going  home, 
' — but  she  said  that  she  was  not  tired,  and  could 
walk  as  well  as  not.  So  they  went  down  to* 


128  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Bell's  safe  arrival. 


gether,  the  cows  running  along  before  them  in 
the  paths.  When  they  reached  the  house, 
Thomas  went  to  turn  the  cows  into  the  yard, 
,while  Mary  Bell  went  into  the  house  to  Mary 
Erskine,  with  her  little  pail  in  one  hand,  and 
tier  bouquet  of  flowers  in  the  other. 


HOUSEKEEPING.  129 

Mary  Bell'a  pleasures  at  Mary  Erskine's. 


CHAPTER    VII. 
HOUSEKEEPING. 

ONE  of  the  greatest  pleasures  which  Mary 
Bell  enjoyed,  in  her  visits  at  Mary  Erskine's  at 
this  period,  was  to  assist  in  the  housekeeping. 
She  was  particularly  pleased  with  being  allowed 
to  help  in  getting  breakfast  or  tea,  and  in  set 
ting  the  table. 

She  rose  accordingly  very  early  on  the  morn- 
,ug  after  her  arrival  there  from  the  woods,  as 
described  in  the  last  chapter,  and  put  on  the 
working-dress  which  Mary  Erskine  had  mad* 
for  her,  and  which  was  always  kept  at  the  farm 
This  was  not  the  working-dress  which  was  de 
scribed  in  a  preceding  chapter  as  the  one  which 
Mary  Bell  used  to  play  in,  when  out  among  the 
stumps.  Her  playing  among  the  stusnps  was 
two  or  three  years  before  the  period  which  we 
are  now  describing.  During  those  two  or  three 
years,  Mary  Bell  had  wholly  outgrown  her 
first  working-dress,  and  her  mind  had  become 
improved  and  enlarged,  and  her  tastes  matured 
more  rapidly  even  than  her  body  had  grown 


130  MARY  ERSKINE 

Mary  Bell's  tastes  and  feelings.  Breakfast. 

She  now  no  longer  took  any  pleasure  in  dab 
bling  in  the  brook,  or  planting  potatoes  in  the 
sand, — or  in  heating  sham  ovens  in  stumps  and 
hollow  trees.  She  had  begun  to  like  realities. 
To  bake  a  real  cake  for  breakfast  or  tea,  to  set 
a  real  table  with  real  cups  and  saucers,  for  a  real 
and  useful  purpose,  or  to  assist  Mary  Erskine  in 
the  care  of  the  children,  or  in  making  the  morning 
arrangements  in  the  room,  gave  her  more  pleas 
ure  than  any  species  of  child's  play  could  possi 
bly  do.  When  she  went  out  now,  she  liked  to 
be  dressed  neatly,  and  take  pleasant  walks,  to 
see  the  views  or  to  gather  flowers.  In  a  word, 
thougn  she  was  still  in  fact  a  child,  she  began 
to  have  in  some  degree  the  tastes  and  feelings 
of  a  woman. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  have  for  breakfast  ?" 
said  Mary  Bell  to  Mary  Erskine,  while  they 
were  getting  up. 

"  What  should  you  like  ?"  asked  Mary  Er- 
skine  in  reply. 

"Why  I  should  like  some  roast  potatoes,  and 
a  spiuer  cake,"  said  Mary  Bell. 

The  spider  cake  received  its  name  from  be 
ing  baked  before  the  fire  in  a  flat,  iron  vessel, 
called  a  spider.  The  spider  was  so  called  prob 
ably,  because,  like  ihe  animal  of  that  name,  u 


HOUSEKEEPING. 


The  spider  cake.  The  operation  of  mskiug  it. 

had  several  legs  and  a  great  round  body.  The 
iron  spider,  however,  unlike  its  living  namesake. 
had  a  long  straight  tail,  which,  extending  out 
behind,  served  for  a  handle. 

The  spider  cake  being  very  tender  and  nice, 
and  coming  as  it  usually  did,  hot  upon  the  table, 
made  a  most  excellent  breakfast,  —  though  this 
was  not  the  principal  reason  which  led  Mary 
Bell  to  ask  for  it.  She  liked  to  make  the  spider 
cake  ;  for  Mary  Erskine,  after  mixing  and  pre 
paring  the  material,  used  to  allow  Mary  Bell  to 
roll  it  out  to  its  proper  form,  and  put  it  into  the 
spider.  Then  more  than  all  the  rest,  Mary  Bell 
liked  to  bake  a  spider  cake.  She  used  to  take 
great  pleasure  in  carrying  the  cake  in  her  two 
hands  to  the  fireplace,  and  laying  it  carefully  in 
its  place  in  the  spider,  and  then  setting  it  up  De- 
fore  the  fire  to  bake,  lifting  the  spider  by  the  end 
of  the  tail.  Sue  also  took  great  satisfaction 
afterward  in  watching  it,  as  the  surface  which 

o         7 

was  presented  toward  the  fire  became  browned 
by  the  heat.  When  it  was  sufficiently  oaited 
upon  one  side  it  had  to  be  turned,  and  then  set 
up  before  the  fire  again,  to  be  baked  on  the  othei 
side  ;  and  every  part  of  the  long  operation  was 
always  watched  by  Mary  Bell  with  great  inter 
est  and  pleasure. 


MA.RY 


Mary  Bell  sets  the  breakfast  table. 


Mary  Erskine  consented  to  Mary  Bell's  pro 
posal  in  respect  to  breakfast,  and  for  an  hour 
Mary  Bell  was  diligently  employed  in  making 
ilie  preparations. 


MARY    BEI.L    GETTING    BREAKFAST. 

She  put  the  potatoes  in  the  bed  which  Mar} 
Crskine  opened  for  them  in  the  ashes.  She 
rolled  out  the  spider  cake,  and  put  it  into  Uie 
spider ;  she  spread  the  cloth  upon  the  table,  and 
took  down  the  plates,  and  the  cups  and  saucers 
from  the  cupboard,  and  set  them  in  order  on 
the  table.  She  went  down  into  the  little  cellar 


HOUSEKEEPING. 


Bella.  The  baby  and  hia  play-things. 


to  bring  up  the  butter.  She  skimmed  a  pan  of 
milk  to  get  the  cream,  she  measured  out  the 
tea  ;  and  at  last,  when  all  else  was  ready,  she 
took  a  pitcher  and  went  down  to  the  spring  to 
bring  up  a  pitcher  of  cool  water.  In  all  these 
operations  Bella  accompanied  her,  always  eager 
to  help,  and  Mary  Bell,  knowing  that  it  gave 
Bella  great  pleasure  to  have  something  to  do, 
called  upon  her,  continually,  for  her  aid,  and  al 
lowed  her  to  do  every  thing  that  it  was  safe  to 
intrust  to  her.  Thus  they  went  on  very  hap 
pily  together. 

At  length,  when  the  breakfast  was  ready  they 
all  sat  down  around  the  table  to  eat  it,  except 
the  baby.  He  remained  in  the  trundle-bed, 
playing  with  his  play-things.  His  play-things 
consisted  of  three  or  four  smooth  pebble  stones 
of  different  colors,  each  being  of  about  the  size 
of  an  egg,  which  his  mother  had  chosen  for  him 
out  of  the  brook,  and  also  of  a  short  piece  of 
bright  iron  chain.  The  chain  was  originally  a 
part  of  a  harness,  but  the  harness  had  become 
worn  out,  and  Albert  had  brought  in  the  chain 
and  given  it  to  the  baby.  The  baby  liked  these 
play-tiiings  very  much  indeed, — both  the  pebbles 
and  the  chain.  When  he  was  well,  and  neither 
hungry  nor  sleepy,  he  was  never  tired,  of  play 


134  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine's  plan  for  a  school. 

ing  with  them, — trying  to  bite  them,  and  jing. 
ling  them  together. 

"  Now,"  said  Mary  Erskine  to  the  children, 
as  they  were  sitting  at  the  table,  at  the  close  of 
the  breakfast,  and  after  Thomas  had  gono 
away,  "  you  may  go  out  and  play  for  an  hour 
while  I  finish  my  morning  work,  and  put  the 
baby  to  sleep,  and  then  I  want  you  to  come  in 
and  have  a  school." 

"  Who  shall  be  the  teacher  ?"  said  Mary  Bell. 

"  You  shall  be  OTIC,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Are  you  going  to  have  two  teachers  ?" 
asked  Mary  Bell.  "  If  you  do,  then  we  can't 
have  any  scholars ; — for  the  baby  is  not  old 
enough  to  go  to  school." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  we  can 
have  three  scholars  without  him." 

"  Who  shall  they  be  ?"  asked  Mary  Bell. 

"  You  and  I,  and  Bella,"  answered  Mary  Er 
skine.  "  I  will  tell  you  what  my  plan  is.  I  ex 
pect  that  I  shall  conclude  to  stay  here,  and  live 
in  this  house  alone  for  some  years  to  come,  and 
the  children  can  not  go  to  school,  for  there  is 
now  nobody  to  take  them,  and  it  is  too  far  for 
them  to  go  alone.  I  must  teach  them  myself 
at  home,  or  else  they  can  not  learn.  I  am  very 
sorry  indeed  now  that  I  did  not  learn  to  read 


HOUSEKEEPING.  135 

Mary  Bell's  class.  Mary  Erskine's. 

and  write  when  I  was  a  child :  for  that  would 
have  saved  me  the  time  and  trouble  of  learning 
now.  But  I  think  I  can  learn  now.  Don't  you 
think  I  can,  Mary  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "I  am 
ayre  you  can.  It  is  very  easy  to  read." 

"I  am  going  to  try,"  continued  Mary  Er- 
skine,  "  and  so  I  want  you  to  teach  me.  And 
while  you  are  teaching  me,  Bella  may  as  well 
begin  at  the  same  time.  So  that  you  will  have 
two  scholars." 

"  Three — you  said  three  scholars,"  rejoined 
Mary  Bell. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  You  shall  be 
the  third  scholar.  I  am  going  to  teach  you  to 
draw." 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  draw  ?"  asked  Mary 
Bell,  surprised. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  I  can  show 
you  how  to  learn." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  I  should  like  to 
learn  to  draw  very  much  indeed.  Though  I 
don't  see  how  any  body  can  teach  a  thing  unless 
they  can  do  it  themselves." 

"  Sometimes  they  can,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 
<$  A  man  may  teach  a  horse  to  canter,  without 
being  able  to  canter  himself," 


138  MARY  ERSKINE. 


The  walk.  Queen  Uess's  bell, 


Mary  Bell  laughed  at  the  idea  of  a  man  at 
tempting  to  canter,  and  said  that  she  should  be 
very  glad  to  try  to  learn  to  draw.  Mary  Erskine 
then  said  that  after  they  had  finished  their 
breakfast  the  children  might  go  out  an  hour  to 
walk  and  play,  and  that  then  when  they  should 
come  in,  they  would  find  every  thing  ready  foi 
the  school. 

Mary  Bell  concluded  to  take  a  walk  about 
the  farm  during  the  time  which  they  were  al 
lowed  to  spend  in  play,  before  the  school  was  to 
begin.  So  she  and  Bella  put  on  their  bonnets, 
and  bidding  Mary  Erskine  good  morning,  they 
sallied  forth.  As  they  came  out  at  the  great 
stoop  door  their  attention  was  arrested  by  the 
sound  of  a  cow-bell.  The  sound  seemed  to 
come  from  the  barn-yard. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  there  is  Queen  Bess 
going  to  pasture  this  morning.  How  glad  I  was 
to  see  her  yesterday  in  the  woods !  Let  us  go 
and  see  her  now." 

So  saying  she  led  the  way  around  the  cornet 
of  the  house,  by  a  pleasant  path  through  the 
high  grass  that  was  growing  in  the  yard,  to 
ward  the  barns.  Bella  followed  her.  They 
passed  through  a  gate,  then  across  a  little  lane, 
then  through  a  gate  on  the  other  side  of  the 


HOUSEKEEPING.  137 


The  greeii  lane.  The  new  house. 

lane,  which  led  into  the  barn-yards.  The  bains, 
like  the  house,  were  built  of  logs,  but  they  were 
very  neatly  made,  and  the  yards  around  them 
were  at  this  season  of  the  year  dry  and  green, 

Mary  and  Bella  walked  on  across  the  barn 
yard  until  they  got  to  the  back  side  of  the  barn, 
when  they  found  Thomas  turning  the  cows  into 
a  little  green  lane  which  led  to  the  pasture.  It 
was  not  very  far  to  the  pasture  bars,  and  so 
Mary  Bell  proposed  that  they  should  go  and 
help  Thomas  drive  the  cows.  They  accord 
ingly  went  on,  but  they  had  not  gone  far  before 
they  came  to  a  brook,  which  here  flowed 
across  the  lane.  The  cows  walked  directly 
through  the  brook,  while  Thomas  got  across  it 
by  stepping  over  some  stones  at  one  side. 
Mary  Bell  thought  that  the  spaces  were  a  little 
too  wide  for  Bella  to  jump  over,  so  she  con 
cluded  not  to  go  any  farther  in  that  direction. 

Bella  then  proposed  that  they  should  go  and 
see  the  new  house.  This  Mary  Bell  thought 
"would  be  an  excellent  plan  if  Bella's  mother 
would  give  them  leave.  They  accordingly 
went  in  to  ask  her.  They  found  her  in  the 
back  stoop,  employed  in  straining  the  milk 
whicn  Thomas  had  brought  in.  She  was 
straining  it  mto  great  pans.  She  said  that  she 


138  MARY   ERSKINE. 


The  situation  of  the  new  house.  Difficulty. 

should  like  to  have  the  children  go  and  see  the 
new  house  very  much  indeed,  and  she  gave 
Ihem  the  key,  so  that  they  might  go  into  it. 
The  children  took  the  key  and  went  across  the 
fields  by  a  winding  path  until  they  came  out 
into  the  main  road  again,  near  the  new  house. 
The  house  was  in  a  very  pleasant  place  indeed 
There  was  a  green  yard  in  front  of  it,  and  a 
place  for  a  garden  at  one  side.  At  the  other 
side  was  a  wide  yard  open  to  the  road,  so  that 
persons  could  ride  up  to  the  door  without  the 
trouble  of  opening  any  gate.  The  children 
walked  up  this  open  yard. 

They  went  to  the  door,  intending  to  unlock 
it  with  their  key,  but  they  were  surprised  to 
find  that  there  was  not  any  key  hole.  Mary 
Bell  said  that  she  supposed  the  key  hole  was 
not  made  yet.  They  tried  to  open  the  door 
but  they  could  not  succeed.  It  was  obviously 
fastened  on  the  inside. 

"  Now  how  can  we  get  in  ?"  said  Bella. 

"  I  don't  see,"  replied  Mary  Bell,  "  and  I  can't 
think  how  they  locked  the  door  without  any 
key-hole." 

"  Could  not  we  climb  in  at  one  of  the  win 
dows?"  said  Mary  Bell, — "only  they  are  so 
high  up!" 


HOUSEKEEPING.  139 


Mary  Bell's  "  climbing  pile.' 


The  children  looked  a:  ound  at  the  windows. 
They  were  all  too  high  from  the  ground  for 
them  to  reach.  There  was,  however,  a  heap 
of  short  blocks  and  boards  which  the  carpen 
ters  had  left  in  the  yard  near  the  house,  and 
Mary  Bell  said  that  perhaps  they  could  build 
up  a  "  climbing  pile"  with  them,  so  as  to  get  in 
at  a  window.  She  accordingly  went  to  this 
heap,  and  by  means  of  considerable  exertion 
and  toil  she  rolled  two  large  blocks — the  ends 
of  sticks  of  timber  which  the  carpenters  had 
sawed  off  in  framing  the  house — up  under  the 
nearest  window.  She  placed  these  blocks, 
which  were  about  two  feet  long,  at  a  little  dis 
tance  apart  under  the  window,  with  one  end  of 
each  block  against  the  house.  She  then,  with 
Bella's  help,  got  some  short  boards  from  the 
pile,  and  placed  them  across  these  blocks  from 
one  to  the  other,  making  a  sort  of  a  flooring. 

"There,"  said  Mary  Bell,  looking  at  the 
work  with  great  satisfaction,  "that  is  one 
story." 

Then  she  brought  twro  more  blocks,  and  laid 
them  upon  the  flooring  over  the  first  two,  plac 
ing  the  second  pair  of  blocks,  like  the  first,  at 
right  angles  to  the  house,  and  with  the  ends 
close  against  it  to  keep  them  steady.  On  these 


140  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  window  open.  Bella  climbs  in. 

blocks  she  laid  a  second  flooring  of  short  boards, 
which  made  the  second  story.  She  then  step 
ped  up  upon  the  staging  which  she  had  thus 
built,  to  see  if  it  was  steady.  It  was  very 
steady  indeed 

"  Let  me  get  up  on  it,"  said  Bella. 

Bella  accordingly  climbed  up,  and  she  and 
Mary  Bell  danced  upon  it  together  in  great  glee 
for  some  time  to  show  how  steady  it  was. 

Mary  Bell  then  attempted  to  open  the  win 
dow.  She  found  that  she  could  open  it  a  little 
way,  but  not  far  enough  to  get  in.  So  she  said 
that  she  must  make  one  more  "story."  They 
then  Loth  went  back  to  the  pile,  and  got  two 
more  blocks  and  another  board  to  lay  across 
upon  the  top  of  them  for  a  flooring,  and  when 
these  were  placed,  Mary  Bell  found  that  she 
could  raise  the  window  very  high.  She  got  a 
long  stick  to  put  under  it  to  hold  it  up,  and  then 
tried  to  climb  in. 

She  found,  however,  that  the  window  siL 
over  which  she  was  to  climb  was  still  rather  too 
high;  but,  at  length,  after  various  consultations 
and  experiments,  Bella  succeeded  in  getting  up 
by  means  of  the  help  which  Mary  Bell,  who 
was  large  and  strong,  gave  her,  by  "boosting 
her,"  as  she  called  it,  that  is,  pushing  her  up 


HOUSEKEEPING.  141 


The  key-hole  not  to  be  found.  The  dd.U 

from  below  while  she  climbed  by  means  of  her 
arms  clasped  over  the  window  sill  above. 
Bella  being  thus  in  the  house,  took  the  K«vy, 
which  Mary  Bell  handed  her  for  the  purnose, 
and  went  along  to  the  entry  to  unlock  the  door, 
while  Mary  Bell,  stepping  down  from  the  scaf 
folding,  went  to  the  door  on  the  outside,  ready 
to  enter  when  it  should  be  opened.  The  chil 
dren  had  no  doubt  that  there  was  a  keyhole  in 
the  lock  on  the  inside,  although  there  was  none 
made  in  the  door  on  the  outside. 

When,  however,  Bella  reached  the  door  on 
the  inside,  she  called  out  to  Mary  Bell,  through 
the  door,  to  say  that  she  could  not  find  any  key 
hole. 

"It  is  in  the  lock,"  said  Mary  Bell. 

"  But  there  is  not  any  lock,"  said  Bella. 

"  Is  not  there  any  thing  ?"  asked  Marv  Be*1 

"  Yes,"  said  Bella,  "  there  is  a  bolt." 

"Oh,  very  well,  then,  open  the  bolt,"  replied 
Mary  Bell. 

After  a  great  deal  of  tugging  and  pushing  at 
the  boh,  Bella  succeeded  in  getting  it  back,  but 
even  then  the  door  would  not  come  open.  It 
was  new,  arid  it  fitted  very  tight.  Bella  said 
that  Mary  Bell  must  push  from  the  outside, 
while  she  held  up  the  latch.  Mary  Bell  accord- 


142  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  aqueduct. The  sitting-T^om  windowT 

ingly  pushed  with  all  her  force,  and  at  length 
the  door  flew  open,  and  to  their  great  joy  they 
found  themselves  both  fairly  admitted  to  the 
house. 

They  rambled  about  for  some  time,  looking 
at  the  different  rooms,  and  at  the  various  con 
veniences  for  housekeeping  which  Albert  had 
planned,  and  which  were  all  just  ready  for  use 
when  Albert  had  died.  There  was  a  sink  in 
the  kitchen,  with  a  little  spout  leading  into  it, 
from  which  the  water  was  running  in  a  con 
stant  stream.  It  came  from  an  aqueduct  of 
logs  brought  under  ground.  There  was  a  tin 
dipper  there  upon  the  top  of  the  post  which  the 
water-spout  came  out  of,  and  Mary  Bell  and 
Bella  had  an  excellent  drink  from  it  the  first 
thing.  The  kitchen  floor  was  covered  with 
shavings,  and  the  children  played  in  them  for 
some  time,  until  they  were  tired.  Then  they 
went  and  got  another  drink. 

When  they  at  last  got  tired  of  the  kitchen, 
they  went  to  a  window  at  the  back  side  of  the 
sitting-room,  which  looked  out  toward  the  gar  • 
den,  and  commanded  also  a  beautiful  prospect 
beyond.  They  opened  this  window  in  order  to 
seft  the  garden  better.  A  fresh  and  delightful 
breeze  came  in  immediately,  which  the  children 


HOUSEKEEPING.  143 


The  children  find  themselves  fastened  in. 

enioyed  very  much.  The  breeze,  however,  in 
a/ awing  through  the  house,  shut  all  the  doors 
which  the  children  had  left  open,  with  a  loud 
noise,  and  then  having  no  longer  any  egress,  it 
ceased  to  come  in.  The  air  seemed  suddenly 
to  become  calm ;  the  children  stood  for  some 
time  at  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  garden, 
and  at  the  pond,  and  the  mountains  beyond. 

At  length  they  shut  the  window  again,  and 
went  to  the  door  at  which  they  had  entered, 
and  found  it  shut  fast.  They  could  not  open 
it,  for  there  was  now  no  one  to  push  upon  the 
outside.  Mary  Bell  laughed.  Bella  looked 
very  much  frightened. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  said  she.  "  We  can'l 
get  out." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  afraid,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  wt 
will  get  out  some  way  or  other." 

She  then  tried  again  to  open  the  door,  exert 
ing  all  her  strength  in  pulling  upon  the  latch, 
but  all  in  vain.     They  were  finally  obliged  to 
give  up  the  attempt  as  utterly  hopeless. 

Mary  Bell  then  led  the  way  to  the  window 
where  Bella  had  got  in,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  little  scaffolding.  It  looked  as  if  the  win 
dow  was  too  high  above  the  scaffolding  for  them 
to  get  down  there  safely.  One  of  them  might, 


144:  MARY   ERSKINE. 


Mary  Bell's  exped'ent. 


perhaps,  have  succeeded  in  descending,  if  the 
olher  had  been  outside  to  help  her  down;  but 
as  it  was,  Mary  Bell  herself  did  not  dare  to 
make  the  attempt. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  we  will  do,"  said  Mary 
Bell.  "  We  will  go  to  another  window  where 
there  are  no  blocks  below,  and  throw  all  the 
shavings  out  from  the  kitchen.  That  will 
make  a  soft  bed  for  us  to  jump  upon." 

"  Well,"  said  Bella,  "  let  us  do  that." 

So  they  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  opening  one 
of  the  windows,  they  began  to  gather  up  the 
shavings  in  their  arms  from  off  the  floor,  and  to 
throw  them  out.  They  worked  very  industri 
ously  at  this  undertaking  for  a  long  time,  until 
the  kitchen  floor  was  entirely  cleared.  They 
picked  out  carefully  all  the  sticks,  and  blocks, 
and  pieces  of  board  which  were  mixed  with  the 
shavings,  before  throwing  them  out,  in  order 
that  there  might  be  nothing  hard  in  the  heap 
which  they  were  to  jump  upon.  When  the 
work  was  completed,  and  all  the  shavings  vere 
out,  they  went  to  the  window,  and  leaning  ov<u 
the  sill,  they  looked  down. 

"  I  wish  we  had  some  more  shavings,"  said 
Mary  Bell. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bella,  "  that  is  too  far  to  jump 


HOUSEKEEPING.  145 

Looking  for  a  ladder. 

down.     We  can't  get  out  any  way  at  all."     8r* 
saying,  she  began  to  cry. 

"  Don't  cry,  Bella,"  said  Mary  Bell,  in  a 
soothing  tone.  "  It  is  no  matter  if  we  can't  go. 
out,  for  your  mother  knows  that  we  came  here, 
an  I  if  we  don't  come  home  in  an  hour,  she  will 
come  for  us  and  let  us  out." 

"  But  perhaps  there  is  a  ladder  somewhere,'" 
added  Mary  Bell,  after  a  short  pause.  "  Per 
haps  we  can  find  a  ladder  that  the  carpenters 
have  left  somewhere  about.  If  there  is,  we  can 
put  it  out  the  window,  and  then  climb  down 
upon  it.  Let  us  go  and  look." 

"  Well,"  said  Bella,  "  so  we  will." 

The  two  children  accordingly  set  oft'  on  an 
exploring  tour  to  find  a  ladder.  Mary  Be; 
went  toward  the  front  part  of  the  house,  aiu 
Bella  into  the  back  kitchen.  They  looked  no: 
only  in  the  rooms,  but  also  in  the  passage-way  a 
and  closets,  and  in  every  corner  where  a  ladut; 
could  possibly  be  hid.  At  length,  just  as  Mai^ 
Bell  was  going  up  the  stairs,  in  order  to  look  irs 
to  the  little  attic  chambers,  she  heard  Bella  caiN 
ing  out  from  the  back  part  of  the  house,  in  a  tohf 
of  voice  expressive  of  great  exultation  and  jo;. 

"  She  has  found  the  ladder,"  said  Mary  Btll, 
and  leaving  the  stairs  she  went  to  meet  her 


J46  MARYERSKINE. 

Bella  finds  the  key-hole. 

She  found  Bella  running  through  the  kitchen 
toward  the  entry  where  Mary  Bell  was,  calling 
out  with  great  appearance  of  delight, 

"I've  found  the  key-hole,  Mary  Bell!  I've 
found  the  key-hole!" 

This  was  indeed  true.  The  lock  to  which 
the  key  that  Mary  Erskine  had  given  the  chil 
dren  belonged,  was  upon  the  back  door,  the 
principal  door  of  the  house  being  fastened  by  a 
bolt.  Mary  Bell  went  to  the  back  door,  and 
easily  opened  it  by  means  of  the  key.  Glad  to 
discover  this  mode  of  escape  from  their  thral 
dom,  the  children  ran  out,  and  capered  about 
upon  the  back  stoop  in  great  glee.  Presently 
they  went  in  again  and  shut  all  the  windows 
which  they  had  opened,  and  then  came  out, 
locking  the  door  after  them,  and  set  out  on 
their  return  home. 

When  they  arrived,  they  found  that  Mary  .Er 
skine  had  got  eveiy  thing  ready  for  the  school 


THE    SCHOOL. 


The  facilities  tor  study. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
THE    SCHOOL. 

GOOD  teachers  and  proper  conveniences  for 
study,  tend  very  much,  it  is  true,  to  facilitate 
the  progress  of  pupils  in  all  attempts  for  the  ac 
quisition  of  knowledge.  But  where  these  ad 
vantages  cannot  be  enjoyed,  it  is  astonishing 
how  far  a  little  ingenuity,  and  resolution,  and 
earnestness,  on  the  part  of  the  pupil,  will  atone 
for  the  deficiency.  No  child  need  ever  be  de 
terred  from  undertaking  any  study  adapted  to 
his  years  and  previous  attainments,  for  want  of 
the  necessary  implements  or  apparatus,  or  the 
requisite  means  of  instruction.  The  means  of 
supplying  the  want  of  these  things  are  always 
at  the  command  of  those  who  are  intelligent, 
resolute,  and  determined.  It  is  only  the  irreso 
lute,  the  incompetent,  and  the  feeble-minded 
that  are  dependent  for  their  progress  on  having 
a  teacher  to  show  them  and  to  urge  them  on 
ward,  every  step  of  the  way. 

When  Mary  Bell  and  Bella  returned  home 
they  found  that  Mary  Erskine  had  made  all  the 


148  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  desk.  Bella's  slate.  Mary  Bell's  seal. 


preparations  necessary  for  the  commencement 
of  the  school.  She  had  made  a  desk  for  the  two 
children  by  means  of  the  ironing-board,  which 
was  a  long  and  wide  board,  made  very  smooth 
on  both  sides.  This  board  Mary  Erskine  placed 
across  two  chairs,  having  previously  laid  two 
blocks  of  wood  upon  the  chairs  in  a  line  with 
the  back  side  of  the  board,  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  raise  that  side  and  to  cause  the  board  to  slope 
forward  like  a  desk.  She  had  placed  two  stools 
in  front  of  this  desk  for  seats. 

Upon  this  desk,  at  one  end  of  it,  the  end, 
namely,  at  which  Bella  was  to  sit,  Mary  Erskine 
had  placed  a  small  thin  board  which  she  found 
in  the  shop,  and  by  the  side  of  it  a  piece  of 
chalk.  This  small  board  and  piece  of  chalk 
were  to  be  used  instead  of  a  slate  and  pencil. 

At  Mary  Bell's  end  of  the  desk  there  was  a 
piece  of  paper  and  a  pen,  which  Mary  Erskine 
had  taken  out  of  her  work-table.  By  the  sido 
of  the  paper  and  pen  was  Bella's  picture-book. 
Tlii/3  picture-book  was  a  small  but  very  preity 
picture-book,  which  Mary  Bell  had  given  to 
Bella  for  a  present  on  her  birth-day,  the  year 
before.  The  picture-book  looked,  as  it  lay  upon 
the  desk,  as  if  it  were  perfectly  new.  Mary 
Erskine  had  kept  it  very  carefully  in  her  work 


THE    SCHOOL  lit) 


Bella's  picture-book. 


table  drawer,  as  it  was  the  only  picture-book 
that  Bella  had.  She  was  accustomed  to  take  it 
out  sometimes  in  the  evening,  and  show  the 
pictures  to  Bella,  one  by  one,  explaining  them  a* 
I  he  same  time,  so  far  as  she  could  guess  at  the 
story  from  the  picture  itself,  for  neither  she  her 
self,  nor  Bella,  could  understand  a  word  of  the 
rending.  On  these  occasions  Mary  Erskine 
new  allowed  Bella  to  touch  the  book,  but  al 
ways  turned  over  the  leaves  herself,  and  that 
too  in  a  very  careful  manner,  so  as  to  preserve 
it  in  its  original  condition,  smooth,  fresh,  and 
unsullied. 

Mary  Bell  and  Bella  looked  at  the  desk 
which  Mary  Erskine  had  prepared  for  them, 
and  likea  it  very  much  indeed. 

"  But  where  are  you  going  to  study  ?"  asked 
Mary  Bell. 

"  I  shall  study  at  my  v\ork-table,  but  not  now. 
I  can't  study  until  the  evening.  1  have  my 
work  to  do,  all  the  day,  and  so  I  shall  not  begin 
my  studies  until  the  evening  when  you  children 
are  all  gone  to  bed.  And  besides,  there  is  only 
one  pen." 

"  Oh,  but  you  will  not  want  the  pen,"  said 
Mary  Bell.  "  You  are  going  to  learn  tfl 
read." 


150  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine'a  way  of  learniug  to  write 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I  am  going  to 
.earn  to  write  first." 

"  Not  first''  said  Mary  Bell.  "  We  always 
(earn  to  read,  before  we  learn  to  write." 

"  But  I  am  going  to  learn  to  write  first,'"'  said 
Mary  Erskine.  "  I  have  been  thinking  about 
it,  and  I  think  that  will  be  best.  I  have  got  the 
plan  all  formed.  I  shall  want  you  to  set  me  a 
copy,  and  then  this  evening  I  shall  write  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "I  will.  The  first 
copy  must  be  straight  marks." 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  the  first  thing  is 
to  learn  to  write  my  name.  I  shall  never  have 
any  occasion  to  write  straight  marks,  but  I  shall 
want  to  write  my  name  a  great  many  times." 

'•'  Oh,  but  you  can't  begin  with  writing  your 
name,"  said  Mary  Bell. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  am  going  tc 
oegin  with  Mary :  only  Mary.  I  want  you  to 
write  me  two  copies,  one  with  the  letters  all 
separate,  and  the  other  with  the  letters  to 
gether 

«  Well,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  I  will.  So  she  sat 
down  to  her  desk,  taking  up  her  pen,  she  dipped 
it  into  the  ink-stand.  The  ink-stand  had  been 
placed  into  the  chair  which  Mary  Bell's  end  of 
tnc  ironing-board  rested  upon.  It  could  not 


THE   SCHOOL.  151 


Maiy  Erskine's  copy.  Bella's  lesson. 

stand  safely  on  the  board  itself  as  that  was 
sloping. 

Mary  Bell  wrote  the  letters  M—  A— R—  Y> 
in  a  large  plain  hand  upon  the  top  of  the  paper, 
and  then  in  a  same  line  she  wrote  them  again, 
joining  them  together  in  a  word.  Mary  Erskine 
stood  by  while  she  wrote,  examining  very  atten 
tively  her  method  of  doing  the  work,  and  espe 
cially  her  way  of  holding  the  pen.  When  the 
copy  was  finished,  Mary  Erskine  cut  it  off  from 
the  top  of  the  paper  and  pinned  it  up  against 
the  side  of  the  room,  where  she  could  look  at  it 
and  study  the  names  of  the  letters  in  the  inter 
vals  of  her  work  during  the  day. 

•'  There,"  said  she  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction 
when  this  was  done.  "  I  have  got  my  work  be- 
lore  me.  The  next  thing  is  to  give  Bella 
hers." 

It  was  decided  that  Bella  should  pursue  a  dif 
ferent  method  from  her  mother.  She  was  to 
iearn  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  in  regular  order, 
taking  the  first  two,  a  and  b,  for  her  first  lesson, 
j-vlary  Bell  made  copies  of  those  two  letters  for 
iier,  with  the  chalk,  upon  the  top  of  the  board. 
She  made  these  letters  in  the  form  of  printed 
and  not  written  characters,  because  the  object 
was  to  teach  Bella  to  read  punted  books. 


152  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine's  directions  to  Bella.  Picking  up  chips. 


"Now,"  said  Mary  Erskine  to  Bella,  "you 
must  study  a  and  b  for  half  an  hour.  I  shall 
tell  you  when  I  think  the  half  hour  is  out.  If 
y;  u  get  tired  of  sitting  at  your  desk,  you  may 
take  your  board  and  your  chalk  out  to  the  door 
and  sit  upon  the  step.  You  must  spend  all  the 
time  in  making  the  letters  on  the  board,  and 
y,?u  may  say  a  and  b  while  you  are  making  the 
etters,  but  besides  that  you  must  not  speak  a 
word.  For  every  time  that  you  speak,  except 
to  say  a  and  b,  after  I  tell  you  to  begin,  you  will 
have  to  pick  up  a  basket  of  chips." 

Picking  up  baskets  of  chips  was  the  common 
punishment  that  Bella  was  subjected  to  for  hei 
childish  misdemeanors.  There  was  a  bin  in 
the  stoop,  where  she  used  to  put  them,  and  a 
small  basket  hanging  up  by  the  side  of  it.  The 
chip-yard  was  behind  the  house,  and  there  was 
always  an  abundant  supply  of  chips  in  it,  from 
Albert's  cutting.  The  basket,  it  is  true,  was 
quite  small,  and  to  fill  it  once  with  chips,  was 
but  a  slight  punishment ;  but  slight  punishments 
are  always  sufficient  for  sustaining  any  just  and 
equitable  government,  provided  they  are  cer 
tain  to  follow  transgression,  and  are  strictly  and 
faithfully  enforced.  Bella  was  a  very  obedient 
and  submissive  child,  though  she  had  scarcely 


THE    SCHOOL.  153 


Mary  Bell's  lesson  in  drawing. 


ever  been  subjected  to  any  heavier  punishment 
than  picking  up  chips. 

"  Shall  I  begin  now  ?"  said  Bella. 

*rNo,"  replied  her  mother,  "  wait,  if  you  like, 
till  Mary  Bell  has  taken  her  lesson." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  going  to  draw,"  said 
Mary  Bell,  "  without  any  pencil." 

"  You  will  have  to  draw  with  the  pen/'  said 
Mary  Erskine.  "  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  have 
not  got  any  pencil  for  you." 

So  saying,  Mary  Erskine  took  up  the  picture- 
book,  and  began  turning  over  the  leaves,  to  find, 
as  she  said,  the  picture  of  a  house.  She  should 
think,  she  said,  that  the  picture  of  a  house  would 
be  a  good  thing  to  begin  with. 

She  found  a  view  of  a  house  in  the  third  pic 
ture  in  the  book.  There  was  a  great  deal  in 
the  picture  besides  the  house,  but  Mary  Erskine 
said  that  the  house  alone  should  be  the  lesson. 
There  was  a  pond  near  it,  with  a  shore,  and 
ducks  and  geese  swimming  in  the  water.  Then 
there  was  a  fence  and  a  gate,  and  a  boy  coming 
through  the  gate,  and  some  trees.  There  was 
one  large  tree  with  a  swing  hanging  from  one 
of  the  branches. 

"  Now,  Mary,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  speaking 
to  Mary  Bell,  "  you  may  take  the  house  alone 


154  MARYERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine's  directions  to  Mary  Bell. 

First  you  must  look  at  it  carefully,  and  examine 
all  the  little  lines  and  marks,  and  see  exactly 
how  they  are  made.  There  is  the  chimney,  ioi 
example.  See  first  what  the  shape  of  the  out 
line  of  it  is,  and  look  at  all  those  little  lines,  and 
those,  and  those,"  continued  Mary  Erskine 
pointing  to  the  different  parts  of  the  chimney. 
"  You  must  examine  in  the  same  way  all  trie 
other  lines,  in  all  the  other  parts  of  the  picture, 
and  see  exactly  how  fine  they  are,  and  how 
near  together  they  are,  so  that  you  can  imitate 
them  exactly.  Then  you  must  make  some  lit 
tle  dots  upon  your  paper  to  mark  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  house,  so  as  to  get  it  of  the 
right  shape ;  and  then  draw  the  lines  and  finish 
it  all  exactly  as  it  is  in  the  book." 

Bella  looked  over  very  attentively,  while  her 
mother  was  explaining  these  things  to  Maiy 
Bell,  and  then  said  that  she  would  rather  draw 
a  house  than  make  letters. 

"  No,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  must  make  let 
ters." 

"  But  it  is  hardei  to  make  letters  than  it  is  10 
make  a  house,"  said  Bella. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  think  it  is." 

"  And  I  think,"  said  Bella,  "  that  the  littlest 
scholar  ought  to  have  the  easiest  things  to  du. ' 


THE    SCHOOL.  i55 


•""itiijg  in  silence.  Two  baskets  of  chips. 

Mary  Erskine  laughed,  and  said  that  in  schools, 
those  things  were  not  done  that  seemed  best  to 
tht/scholars,  but  those  that  seemed  best  to  th^ 
teachers 

1  Then,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  why  must  not  you 
write  marks." 

Mary  Erskine  laughed  still  more  at  this,  and 
shJd  she  acknowledged  that  the  children  had  got 
hei  penned  up  in  a  corner. 

"  Now,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  are  you  ready 
to  begin ;  because  when  you  once  begin,  you 
must  not  speak  a  word  till  the  half  hour  is  out." 

•'  Yes,"  said  the  children,  "  we  are  ready." 

•'  Then  begin,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

The  children  began  \vith  great  gravity  and 
silence,  each  at  her  separate  task,  while  Mary 
Erskine  went  on  with  her  own  regular  employ 
ment.  The  silence  continued  unbroken  for 
about  five  minutes,  when  Bella  laid  down  her 
chalk  in  a  despairing  manner,  saying. 

"  O  dear  me !  I  can't  make  a  a." 

"  T  .lere's  one  basket  of  chips,"  said  Mary 
Erskine. 

"  Why  I  really  can't,"  said  Bella,  "  I  have 
tried  three  times." 

"  Two  baskets  of  chips,"  said  her  mother. 
"  Make  two  marks  on  the  corner  of  your  board," 


150 


MARY  ERSKJNE. 


Bella's  resolution. 


she  continued,  "  and  every  time  you  spea«  put 
down  another,  so  that  we  can  remember  how 
many  baskets  of  chips  you  have  to  pick  up." 

Bella  looked  rather  disconsolate  at  receiving 
this  direction.  She  knew,  however,  that  she 
must  obey.  She  was  also  well  aware  that  she 
would  certainly  have  to  pick  up  as  many  bas 
kets  of  chips  as  should  be  indicated  by  the  line 
of  chalk  marks.  She,  therefore,  resumed  her 
work,  inwardly  resolving  that  she  would  not 
sp^ak  another  word.  All  this  time,  Mary  Bel 


THE    SCHOOL 


THE    SCHOOL.  157 


The  end  of  the  half  hour.  Mary  Bell's  picture. 

went  on  with  her  drawing,  without  apparently 
paying  any  attention  to  the  conversation  be 
tween  Bt-lla  and  her  mother. 

Bella  went  on,  too,  herself  after  this,  very  at 
tentively,  making  the  letters  which  had  been 
assigned  her  for  her  lesson,  and  calling  the 
names  of  them  as  she  made  them,  but  not 
speaking  any  words. 

At  length  Mary  Erskine  told  the  children  that 
the  half  hour  had  expired,  and  that  they  were 
at  liberty.  Bella  jumped  up  and  ran  away  to 
play.  Mary  Bell  wished  to  remain  and  finish 
her  house.  Mary  Erskine  went  to  look  at  it. 
She  compared  it  very  attentively  with  the  orig 
inal  in  the  picture-book,  and  observed  several 
places  in  which  Mary  Bell  had  deviated  from 
her  pattern.  She  did  not,  however,  point  out 
any  of  these  faults  to  Mary  Bell,  but  simply  said 
that  she  had  done  her  work  very  well  indeed. 
She  had  made  a  very  pretty  house.  Mary  Bell 
said  that  it  was  not  quite  finished,  and  she  wished 
to  remain  at  her  desk  a  little  longer  to  complete 
.t  Mary  Erskine  gave  her  leave  to  do  so. 

Bella,  who  had  gone  away  at  first,  dancing 
to  the  door,  pleased  to  be  released  from  her 
confinement,  came  back  to  see  Mary  Bell's  pic 
ture,  while  her  mother  was  examining  it.  She 


i58  MARY  ERSKINB. 


Bella's  letters.  The  clJpft 

seemed  very  much  pleased  with  it  indeed. 
Then  she  asked  ner  mother  to  look  at  her  let 
ters  upon  the  board.  Mary  Erskine  and  Mary 
Bell  both  looked  at  them,  one  by  one,  very  at 
tentively,  and  compared  them  with  the  letters 
which  Mary  Bell  had  made  for  patterns,  and 
also  with  specimens  of  the  letters  in  the  books 
Bella  took  great  interest  in  looking  for  the  let 
ters  in  the  book,  much  pleased  to  find  tha;  she 
knew  them  wherever  she  saw  them.  Her 
mother,  too,  learned  a  and  b  very  effectually  by 
this  examination  of  Bella's  work.  Mary  Er 
skine  selected  the  two  best  letters  which  Bella 
had  made,  one  of  each  kind,  and  rubbed  out  all 
the  rest  with  a  cloth.  She  then  put  up  the 
board  in  a  conspicuous  place  upon  a  shelf, 
where  the  two  good  letters  could  be  seen  by  all 
in  the  room.  Bella  was  much  pleased  at  this, 
and  she  came  in  from  her  play  several  times  n 
the  course  of  the  day,  to  look  at  her  letters  and 
to  call  them  by  name. 

When  Bella's  board  had  thus  been  put  up  u\ 
its  conspicuous  position,  Mary  Bell  sat  down  to 
finish  her  drawing,  while  Bella  went  out  to  pick 
up  her  two  baskets  of  chips.  Mary  Bell  wonted 
upon  her  house  for  nearly  the  whole  of  anotner 
half  hour,  When  it  was  finished  she  cut  the 


THE   SCHOOL.  159 

Mary  Bell  finishes  her  drawing.  Mary  Erskine's  lesson. 

part  of  the  paper  which  it  was  drawn  upon  off 
from  the  rest,  and  ruled  around  it  a  neat  mar 
gin  of  double  black  lines.  She  obtained  a  nar 
row  strip  of  wood,  from  the  shop  which  served 
her  as  a  ruler.  She  said  that  she  meant  to 
have  all  her  drawing  lessons  of  the  same  size, 
and  to  put  the  same  margin  around  them.  She 
marked  her  house  No.  1,  writing  the  numbering 
in  a  small  but  plain  hand  on  one  corner.  She 
wrote  the  initials  of  her  name,  M.  B.,  in  the 
same  small  hand,  on  the  opposite  corner. 

Mary  Erskine  did  not  attempt  her  lesson 
until  the  evening.  She  finished  her  work 
about  the  house  a  little  after  eight  o'clock,  and 
then  she  undressed  the  children  and  put  them 
to  bed.  By  this  time  it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock. 
The  day  had  been  warm  and  pleasant,  but  the 
nights  at  this  season  were  coo),  and  Mary  Er 
skine  put  two  or  three  dry  sticks  upon  the  fire, 
before  she  commenced  her  work,  partly  for  the 
warmth,  and  partly  for  the  cheerfulness  of  the 
blaze. 

She  lighted  her  lamp,  and  sat  down  at  hei 
work-table,  with  Mary  Bell's  copy,  and  her  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  before  her.  The  copy  had  been 
pinned  up  in  sight  all  the  day,  and  she  had  very 
often  examined  it,  when  passing  it,  in  going  to 


160  MARY  En  SKIN  E. 


Mary  Erskine's  writing.  Next  day's  school. 

and  fro  at  her  work.  She  had  thus  learned  the 
names  of  all  the  letters  in  the  word  Mary,  and 
had  made  herself  considerably  familiar  with  the 
•forms  of  them;  so  that  she  not  only  knew  ex. 
actly  what  she  had  to  do  in  writing  the  letters, 
but  she  felt  a  strong  interest  in  doing  it.  She, 
however,  made  extremely  awkward  work  in  her 
first  attempts  at  writing  the  letters.  She,  nev 
ertheless,  steadily  persevered.  She  wrote  the 
ivords,  first  in  separate  letters,  and  then  after 
wards  in  a  joined  hand,  again  and  again,  going 
down  the  paper.  She  found  that  she  could 
write  a  little  more  easily,  if  not  better,  as  she 
proceeded, — but  still  the  work  was  very  hard. 
At  ten  o'clock  her  paper  was  covered  with 
what  she  thought  were  miserable  scrawls,  and 
her  wrist  and  her  fingers  ached  excessively. 
She  put  her  \vork  away,  and  prepared  to  go  to 
oed. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up  after  all," 
said  she.  "  But  I  will  not  give  np  till  I  arn 
beaten.  I  will  write  an  hour  every  day  for  six 
months,  and  then  if  I  can  not  write  my  name 
so  that  people  can  read  it,  I  will  stop." 

The  next  day  about  an  hour  after  breakfast 
Mar\  Erskine  had  another  school  for  the  chil 
dren  Bella  took  the  two  next  letters  c  and  rf 


THE    SCHOOL.  161 

Mary  Bell's  second  picture.  Mary  Erskine's  lesson. 


for  her  lesson,  while  Mary  Bell  took  the  swing 
hanging  from  the  branch  of  the  tree  in  the 
picture-book,  for  the  subject  of  her  second 
drawing.  Before  beginning  her  work,  she 
studied  all  the  touches  by  which  the  drawing 
was  made  in  the  book,  with  great  attention  and 
care,  in  order  that  she  might  imitate  them  as 
precisely  as  possible.  She  succeeded  very  well 
indeed  in  this  second  attempt.  The  swing 
made  even  a  prettier  picture  than  the  house. 
When  it  was  finished  she  cut  the  paper  out,  of 
the  same  size  with  the  other,  drew  a  border 
around  it,  and  marked  it  No.  2.  She  went  on 
in  this  manner  every  day  as  long  as  she  re 
mained  at  Mary  Erskine's,  drawing  a  new 
picture  every  day.  At  last,  when  she  went 
home,  Mary  Erskine  put  all  her  drawings  up 
together,  and  Mary  Bell  carried  them  home  to 
show  them  to  her  mother.  This  was  the  begin 
ning  of  Mary  Bell's  drawing. 

As  for  Mary  Erskine,  her  second  lesson  was 
the  word  Erskine,  which  she  found  a  great  deal 
harder  to  write  than  Mary.  There  was  one 
thing,  however,  that  pleased  her  in  it,  which 
was  that  there  was  one  letter  which  she  knew 
already,  having  learned  it  in  Mary :  that  was 
the  r.  All  the  rest  of  the  letters  however, 
L 


162  MAKY  ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine's  success.  Mrs.  Bell  comes  for  Mary. 

were  new,  and  she  had  to  practice  writing  the 
word  two  evenings  before  she  could  write  it 
well,  without  looking  at  the  copy.  She  then 
thought  that  probably  by  that  time  she  had  for 
gotten  Mary ;  but  on  trying  to  write  that  word, 
she  was  very  much  pleased  to  find  that  she 
could  write  it  much  more  easily  than  she  could 
before.  This  encouraged  her,  and  she  accord 
ingly  took  Forester  for  her  third  lesson  without 
any  fear  of  forgetting  the  Mary  and  the  Er- 
skine. 

The  Forester  lesson  proved  to  be  a  very  easy 
one.  There  were  only  three  new  letters  in  it, 
and  those  three  were  very  easy  to  write.  In 
nne,  at  the  end  of  the  four  days,  when  Mary 
Bell  was  to  go  home,  Mary  Erskine  could  read, 
write,  and  spell  her  name  very  respectably 
well. 

Mrs.  Bell  came  herself  for  Mary  when  the 
time  of  her  visit  expired.  She  was  very  much 
ploased  to  learn  how  good  a  girl  and  how  use- 
ful  her  daughter  had  been.  She  was  particu 
larly  pleased  with  her  drawings.  She  said  that 
she  had  been  very  desirous  to  have  Mary  learn 
to  draw,  but  that  she  did  not  know  it  was  pos 
sible  to  make  so  good  a  beginning  without  a 
^eacher. 


THE   SCHOOL.  163 


Mary  Erskine's  plan  to  sell  the  farm. 

"Why  I  had  a  teacher,"  said  Mary  Bell. 
'*  I  think  that  Mary  Erskine  is  a  teacher ;  and 
a  very  good  one  besides." 

"I  think  so  too,"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 

The  children  went  out  to  get  some  wild 
flowers  for  Mary  Bell  to  carry  home,  and  Mrs. 
Bell  then  asked  Mary  if  she  had  begun  to  con 
sider  what  it  was  best  for  her  to  do. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  I  think  it  will 
be  best  for  me  to  sell  the  farm,  and  the  new 
house,  and  all  the  stock,  and  live  here  in  this 
house  with  my  children." 

Mrs.  Bell  did  not  answer,  but  seemed  to  be 
thinking  whether  this  would  be  the  best  plan  or 
not. 

"  The  children  cannot  go  to  school  from  here," 
said  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  I  can  teach 
them  myself,  I  think,  till  they  are  old  enough  to 
walk  to  the  school-house.  I  find  that  I  can 
team  the  letters  faster  than  Bella  can,  and  thai 
without  interfering  with  my  work ;  and  Mary 
Bell  will  come  out  here  now  and  then  and  tell 
us  what  we  don't  know. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  her  come  as  often  as  you  wish.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  had  better  move  into  the 


164  MARYERSKINE. 

Why  she  does  not  move  to  the  village. 

tillage.  Half  the  money  that  the  farm  and 
the  stock  will  sell  for,  will  buy  you  a  very  pleas- 
an;  house  in  the  village,  and  the  interest  on  the 
other  half,  together  with  what  you  can  earn, 
will  support  you  comfortably." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  but  then  I  should 
be  growing  poorer,  rather  than  richer,  all  the 
time  ;  and  when  my  children  grow  large,  and  I 
want  the  money  for  them,  I  shall  find  that  1 
have  spent  it  all.  Now  if  I  stay  here  in  this 
house,  I  shall  have  no  rent  to  pay,  nor  shall  I 
lose  the  interest  of  a  part  of  my  money,  as  I 
should  if  I  were  to  buy  a  house  in  the  village 
with  it  to  live  in  myself.  I  can  earn  enough 
here  too  by  knitting,  and  by  spinning  and  weav 
ing,  for  all  that  we  shall  want  while  the  chil 
dren  are  young.  I  can  keep  a  little  land  with 
this  house,  and  let  Thomas,  or  some  other  such 
boy  live  with  me,  and  raise  such  things  as  we 
want  to  eat ;  and  so  I  think  I  can  get  along 
very  well,  and  put  out  all  the  money  which  I 
get  from  the  farm  and  the  stock,  at  interest.  In 
ten  or  fifteen  years  it  will  be  two  thousand  dol 
lars.  Then  I  shall  be  rich,  and  can  move  into 
the  village  without  any  danger. 

"  Not  two  thousand  dollars  !"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 


THE   SCHOOL.  165 

The  prospect  of  a  fortune. 

"  Yes/'  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  if  I  have  calcu 
lated  it  right." 

"  Why,  how  much  do  you  think  the  farm  and 
stock  will  sell  for?"  asked  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  About  eight  hundred  dollars,"  said  Mary  Er 
skine.  "  That  put  out  at  interest  will  double  in 
about  twelve  years." 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Bell,  "  but  that 
makes  only  sixteen  hundred  dollars." 

"  But  then  I  think  that  I  can  lay  up  half  a 
dollar  a  week  of  my  own  earnings,  especially 
when  Bella  gets  a  little  bigger  so  as  to  help  me 
about  the  house,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Well ;"  said  Mrs.  Bell. 

•'That,"  continued  Mary  Erskine,  " will  be 
twenty-five  dollars  a  year.  Which  will  be  at 
least  three  hundred  dollars  in  twelve  years." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "that  makes 
nineteen  hundred." 

"  Then,"  continued  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  thought 
that  at  the  end  of  the  twelve  years  I  should  be 
able  to  sell  this  house  and  the  land  around  it  for 
a  hundred  dollars,  especially  if  I  take  good  care 
of  the  buildings  in  the  mean  while." 

"  And  that  makes  your  two  thousand  dollais," 
said  Mrs.  Bell. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mary  Erskine. 


166  MARY    ERSKINE. 


Mary  Bell  and  her  mother  go  home. 

'•'  But  suppose  you  are  sick." 

"  Oh,  if  1  am  sick,  or  if  I  die,"  rejoined  Mary 
Erskine,  "  of  course  that  breaks  up  all  my  plans, 
1  know  I  can't  plan  against  calamities." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  rising  from  her  seat 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  upon  her  counte 
nance,  "  I  can't  advise  you.  But  if  ever  i  geL 
into  any  serious  trouble,  I  shall  come  to  you  10 
advise  me." 

So  bidding  Mary  Erskine  good-bye,  Mrs. 
Bell  called  her  daughter,  and  they  went  to 
gether  toward  their  home. 


GOOD  MANAGEMENT.  Wt 

the  administrators.  Loiters  of  Administration. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
GOOD    MANAGEMENT, 

WHENEVER  any  person  dies,  leaving  propeiiy 
:o  be  divided  among  his  heirs,  and  not  leaving 
any  valid  will  to  determine  the  mode  of  division, 
ihe  property  as  has  already  been  said,  must  be 
divided  on  certain  principles,  established  by  the 
law  of  the  land,  and  under  the  direction  of  the 
J  udge  of  Probate,  who  has  jurisdiction  over  the 
county  in  which  the  property  is  situated.  The 
Judge  of  Probate  appoints  a  person  to  take 
charge  of  the  property  and  divide  it  among  the 
heirs.  This  person  is  called  the  administrator, 
or,  if  a  woman,  the  administratrix.  The  Judge 
gives  the  administrator  or  the  administratrix  a 
paper,  which  authorises  him  or  her  to  take 
charge  of  the  property,  which  paper  is  called, 
"  Letters  of  Administration."  The  letters  of 
administration  are  usually  granted  to  the  wife 
of  the  deceased,  or  to  his  oldest  son,  or,  if  -here 
is  no  wife  or  son,  to  the  nearest  heir  who  is  of 
proper  age  and  discretion  to  manage  the  trust. 
The  person  who  receives  administration  is 


MARY   ERSKINE. 


The  imrentory.  Real  and  personal  estate 

obliged  to  take  a  solemn  oath  before  the  Judge 
ot"  Probate,  that  he  will  report  to  the  Judge  a 
ful.  account  of  all  the  property  that  belonged  te 
the  deceased  which  shall  come  to  his  knowledge, 
The  Judge  also  appoints  three  persons  to  go 
and  examine  the  property,  and  make  an  inven 
tory  of  it,  and  appraise  every  article,  so  as  to 
know  as  nearly  as  possible,  how  much  and  what 
property  there  is.  These  persons  are  called  ap 
praisers.  The  inventory  which  they  make  out 
is  lodged  in  the  office  of  the  Judge  of  Probate, 
wnere  any  person  who  has  an  interest  in  the 
estate  can  see  it  at  any  time.  The  adminis 
trator  usually  keeps  a  copy  of  the  inventory 
besides. 

It  among  the  property  left  by  a  person  de 
ceased,  which  is  to  go  in  part  to  children,  there 
are  any  houses  and  lands,  —  a  kind  of  property 
which  is  called  in  law  real  estate,  to  distinguish 
it  from  moveable  property,  which  is  called  per 
sonal  estate,  —  such  real  estate  cannot  be  sold, 
ic  ordinary  cases,  by  the  administrator,  without 
leave  from  the  Judge  of  Probate.  This  leave 
the  Judge  of  Probate  will  give  in  cases  where 
it  is  clearly  best  for  the  children  that  the  proper- 
Jv  should  be  so  sold  and  the  avails  of  it  kept  for 
them,  rather  than  the  property  itself.  All  these 


GOOD  MANAGEMENT. 

Mary  Erskine  goes  to  the  Probate  court. 


169 


things  Mrs.  Bell  explained  to  Mary  Erskine, 
having  learned  about  them  herself  some  years 
before  when  her  own  husband  died. 

Accordingly,  a  few  weeks  after  Albert  died,, 
Mary  Erskine  went  one  day  in  a  wagon,  taking 
the  .»aby  with  her,  and  Thomas  to  drive,  to  the 
county  ttevn,  where  the  Probate  court  was  heirt- 


GOING   TO    COURT. 


At  the  Probate  court,  Mary  Erskine  made  all 
the  arrangements  necessary  in  respect  to  the 
estate.  She  had  to  go  twice,  in  fact,  before  all 
these  arrangements  were  completed.  She  ex- 


170  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Reading  the  Letters  of  Administration. 


pected  to  have  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  em 
barrassment  in  doing  this  business,  but  she  did 
not  find  that  there  was  any  trouble  at  all.  The 
"••idge  of  Probate  told  her  exactly  what  to  do. 
She  was  required  to  sign  her  name  once  or 
twice  to  papers.  This  she  did  with  great  trepi 
dation,  and  after  writing  her  name,  on  the  first 
occasion  which  occurred  requiring  her  signa 
ture,  she  apologized  for  not  being  able  to  write 
any  better.  The  Judge  of  Probate  said  that 
very  few  of  the  papers  that  he  received  were 
signed  so  well. 

Mary  Erskine  was  appointed  administratrix, 
and  the  Judge  gave  her  a  paper  which  he  said 
was  ho.r  "  Letters  of  Administration."  What 
the  Judge  gave  to  her  seemed  to  be  only  one 
paper,  but  she  thought  it  probable,  as  the  Judge 
said  "Letlers"  that  there  was  another  inside. 
When  she  got  home,  however,  and  opened  the 
paper  she  ibund  that  there  was  only  one.  She 
could  not  read  it  herself,  her  studies  having  yet 
extended  no  farther  than  to  the  writing  of  hei 
name.  The  first  time,  however,  that  Mary  Bell 
came  to  see  her,  after  she  received  this  docu 
ment,  she  asked  Mary  Bell  to  read  it  to  hei 
Mary  Bell  did  so,  but  after  she  had  got  through 
Mary  Erskine  said  that  she  could  not  under- 


GOOD  MANAGEMENT.  171 

The  appraisment.  The  value  of  the  property. 

stand  one  word  of  it  from  beginning  to  end. 
Mary  Bell  said  that  that  was  not  strange,  for 
she  believed  that  lawyers'  papers  were  only 
meant  for  lawyers  to  understand. 

The  appraisers  came  about  this  time  to  make 
an  inventory  of  the  property.  They  went  all 
over  the  house  and  barns,  and  took  a  complete 
account  of  every  thing  that  they  found.  They 
made  a  list  of  all  the  oxen,  sheep,  cows,  horses, 
and  other  animals,  putting  down  opposite  to 
each  one,  their  estimate  of  its  value.  They 
did  the  same  with  the  vehicles,  and  farming  im 
plements,  and  utensils,  and  also  with  all  the 
household  furniture,  and  the  provisions  and 
stores.  When  they  had  completed  the  apprais 
ment  they  added  up  the  amount,  and  found  that 
the  total  was  a  little  over  four  hundred  dollars. 
Mary  Erskine  was  very  much  surprised  to  find 
that  there  was  so  much. 

The  appraisers  then  told  Mary  Erskine  that 
half  of  that  property  was  hers,  and  the  ether 
hail  be  onged  to  the  children ;  and  that  as  mucn 
of  '.heir  half  as  was  necessary  for  their  suppoit 
could  be  used  for  that  purpose,  and  tne  rest 
must  be  paid  over  to  them  when  they  became 
of  age.  They  said  also  tnat  she  or  seme  one 
else  must  be  appointed  their  guardian,  to  take 


MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine  appointed  guardian. 


care  of  their  part  of  the  property ;  and  that 
the  guardian  could  either  keep  the  property  as 
it  was,  or  sell  it  and  keep  the  money  as  she 
thought  would  be  most  for  the  interest  of  the 
cnildren ;  and  that  she  had  the  same  power  in 
respect  to  her  own  share. 

Mary  Erskine  said  that  she  thought  it  would 
be  oest  for  her  to  sell  the  stock  and  farming 
tools,  because  she  could  not  take  care  of  them 
nor  use  them,  and  she  might  put  the  money  out 
at  interest.  The  appraisers  said  they  thought 
so  too. 

In  the  end,  Mary  Erskine  was  appointed 
guardian.  The  idea  appeared  strange  to  her  at 
first  of  being  appointed  guardian  to  her  own 
chuuren,  as  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  mother 
naturally  and  necessarily  held  that  relation  to 
her  offspring.  But  the  meaning  of  the  law,  in 
making  a  mother  the  guardian  of  her  children 
by  appointment  in  such  a  case  as  this,  is  simply 
to  authorize  her  to  take  care  of  property  left  to 
them,  or  descending  to  them.  It  is  obvious 
that  cares  must  frequently  occur  in  which  a 
mother,  though  the  natural  guardian  of  her 
chnuren  so  far  as  the  personal  care  of  them  is 
concerned,  would  not  be  properly  qualified  to 
ta/.e  charge  of  any  considerable  amount  of 


GOOD   MANAGEMENT.  173 


She  decides  to  sell  the  farm. 


property  corning  to  them.  When  the  mother 
is  qualified  to  take  this  charge,  she  can  be  duly 
authorized  to  do  it ;  and  this  is  the  appointment 
to  the  guardianship — meaning  the  guardian^ 
ship  of  the  property  to  which  the  appointment 
refers. 

Mary  Erskine  was  accordingly  appointed 
guardian  of  the  children,  and  she  obtained  leave 
to  sell  the  farm.  She  decided  that  it  would  be 
best  to  sell  it  as  she  thought,  after  making  dili 
gent  enquiry,  that  she  could  not  depend  on  re 
ceiving  any  considerable  annual  rent  for  it,  if 
she  were  to  attempt  to  let  it.  She  accordingly 
sold  the  farm,  with  the  new  house,  and  all  the 
stock, — excepting  that  she  reserved  from  the 
farm  ten  acres  of  land  around  her  own  house, 
and  one  cow,  one  horse,  two  pigs,  and  all  the 
poultry.  She  also  reserved  all  the  household 
furniture.  These  things  she  took  as  a  part  of 
her  portion.  The  purchase  money  for  all  the 
rest  amounted  to  nine  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
This  sum  was  considerably  more  than  Mary 
Erskine  had  expected  to  receive. 

The  question  now  was  what  should  be  clone 
with  this  money.  There  are  various  modes 
which  are  adopted  for  investing  such  sums  so 
as  to  get  an  annual  income  from  them  The 


174  MAR?    EESKINE 

Various  ways  of  investment.  The  FranconhTbrk!^ 

money  may  be  lent  to  some  person  who  will 
take  it  and  pay  interest  for  it.  A  house  may 
be  bought  and  let  to  some  one  who  wishes  to 
hire  it ;  or  shares  in  a  rail-road,  or  a  bank,  01  a 
bridge,  may  be  taken.  Such  kinds  of  property 
as  those  are  managed  by  directors,  who  take 
care  of  all  the  profits  that  are  made,  and  twice 
a  year  divide  the  money  among  the  persons 
that  own  the  shares. 

Mary  Erskine  had  a  great  deal  of  time  for 
enquiry  and  reflection  in  respect  to  the  proper 
mode  of  investing  her  money,  for  the  man  who 
purchased  the  farm  and  the  stock  was  not  to 
pay  the  money  immediately.  The  price  agreed 
upon  for  the  farm,  including  of  course  the  new 
house,  was  five  hundred  dollars.  The  stock, 
farming  utensils,  &c.,  which  he  took  with  it, 
came  to  three  hundred  and  sixty  dollars.  The 
purchaser  was  to  pay,  of  this  money,  four  hun 
dred  dollars  in  three  months,  and  the  balance  in 
six  months.  Mary  Erskine,  therefore,  had  to 
make  provision  for  investing  the  four  hundred 
lollars  first. 

She  determined,  after  a  great  deal  of  consid 
eration  and  inquiry,  to  lay  out  this  money  in 
buying  four  shares  in  the  Franconia  bridge. 
These  shares  were  originally  one  hundred  del- 


GOOD  MANAGEMENT.  175 


The  premium.  The  di\  idenda. 

lars  each,  but  the  bridge  had  become  so  profit 
able  on  account  of  the  number  of  persons  that 
Dassed  it,  and  the  amount  of  money  which  was 
consequently  collected  for  tolls,  that  the  shares 
would  sell  for  a  hundred  and  ten  dollars  each. 
This  ten  dollars  advance  over  the  original  price 
of  the  shares,  is  called  premium.  Upon  the 
four  shares  which  Mary  Erskine  was  going  to 
buy,  the  premium  would  be  of  course  forty  dol 
lars.  This  money  Mary  Erskine  concluded  to 
borrow.  Mr.  Keep  said  that  he  would  very 
gladly  lend  it  to  her.  Her  plan  was  to  pay  the 
borrowed  money  back  out  of  the  dividends  which 
she  would  receive  from  her  bridge  shares.  The 
dividend  was  usually  five  per  centum,  or,  as  they 
commonly  called  it,  five  per  cent.,  that  is,  five 
dollars  on  every  share  of  a  hundred  dollars 
every  six  months.*  The  dividend  on  the  four 
snares  would,  of  course,  be  twenty  dollars,  so 
tnat  it  would  take  two  dividends  to  pay  off  the 
torty  dollar  debt  to  Mr.  Keep,  besides  a  little 
interest.  When  this  was  done,  Mary  Erskine 
would  have  property  in  the  bridge  worth  foui 
hundred  and  forty  dollars,  without  having  used 

*  Per  is  a  lathi  word  meaning  for,  and  centum  another 
meaning  a  hundred. 


176  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Mary  Erskine'8  second  investment. 


/my  more  than  four  hundred  dollars  of  her  farm 
money,  and  she  would  continue  to  have  fort) 
dollars  a  year  from  it,  as  long  as  she  kept  it  ir* 
her  possession. 

When  the  rest  of  the  money  for  the  farm  was 
paid,  Mary  Erskine  resolved  on  purchasing  p 
certain  small,  but  very  pleasant  house  with  it 
This  house  was  in  the  village,  and  she  found  on 
inquiry,  that  it  could  be  let  to  a  family  for  fifty 
dollars  a  year.  It  is  true  that  a  part  of  this 
fifty  dollars  would  have  to  be  expended  every 
year  in  making  repairs  upon  the  house,  so  as  to 
keep  it  in  good  order ;  such  as  painting  it  from 
time  to  time,  and  renewing  the  roof  when  the 
shingles  began  to  decay,  and  other  similar  things. 
But,  then,  Mary  Erskine  found,  on  making  a 
careful  examination,  that  after  expending  as 
much  of  the  money  which  she  should  receive 
for  the  rent  of  her  house,  as  should  be  neces 
sary  for  the  repairs,  she  should  still  have  rather 
more  than  she  would  receive  from  the  money  to 
be  invested,  if  it  was  put  out  at  interest  by  lend 
ing  it  to  some  person  who  wranted  to  borrow  it. 
So  she  decided  to  buy  the  house  in  preference 
to  adopting  any  other  plan. 

It  happened  that  the  house  which  Mary  Er 
skine  thus  determined  to  buy,  was  the  very  one 


GOOD  MAN  AGEJV    NT. 


Mr.  Gordon's  house.  Anne  Sophia. 

that  Mr.  Gordon  lived  in.  The  owner  of  the 
house  wished  to  sell  it,  and  offered  it  first  to 
Mr,  Gordon  ;  but  he  said  that  he  was  not  able 
to  buy  it.  He  had  been  doing  very  well  in  his 
business,  but  his  expenses  were  so  great,  he 
said,  that  he  had  not  any  ready  money  at  com 
mand.  He  was  very  sorry,  he  added,  that  the 
owner  wished  to  sell  the  house,  for  whoever 
should  buy  it,  would  want  to  come  and  live  in 
it,  he  supposed,  and  he  should  be  obliged  to 
move  away.  The  owner  said  that  he  was 
sorry,  but  that  he  could  not  help  it. 

A  few  days  after  this,  Mr.  Gordon  came  home 
one  evening,  and  told  Anne  Sophia,  with  a 
countenance  expressive  of  great  surprise  and 
some  little  vexation,  that  her  old  friend,  Mrs. 
Forester,  had  bought  their  house,  and  was  go 
ing  to  move  into  it.  Anne  Sophia  was  amazed 
at  this  intelligence,  and  both  she  and  her  hus 
band  were  thrown  into  a  state  of  great  perplex 
ity  and  trouble.  The  next  morning  Anne  So 
phia  went  out  to  see  Mary  Erskine  about  it. 
Mary  Erskine  received  her  in  a  very  kind  and 
cordial  manner. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mary  Er 
skine.  "  I  was  coming  to  your  house  myself 
M 


178  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Anne  Sophia's  astonishment  at  Mary  Erskine's  plan. 

in  a  day  or  two,  about  some  business,  if  you 
had  not  come  here." 

"  Yes,"  said  Anne  Sophia.  "  I  understand 
that  you  have  been  buying  our  house  away 
from  over  our  heads,  and  are  going  to  turn  us 
out  of  house  and  home." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  smiling,  u  not 
at  all.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  not  reaAy 
bought  the  house  yet,  but  am  only  talking  about 
it ;  and  in  the  second  place,  if  I  buy  it,  1  shall 
not  want  it  myself,  but  shall  wish  to  have  you 
live  in  it  just  as  you  have  done." 

"  You  will  not  want  it  yourself!"  exclaimed 
Anne  Sophia,  astonished. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  Erskine,  "  I  am  only  gomg 
to  buy  it  as  an  investment." 

There  were  so  many  things  to  be  astonished 
at  in  this  statement,  that  Anne  Sophia  hardly 
knew  where  to  begin  with  her  wonder.  First, 
she  was  surprised  to  learn  that  Mary  Erskine 
had  so  much  money.  When  she  heard  that 
she  had  bought  the  house,  she  supposed  of 
course  that  she  had  bought  it  on  credit,  for  '.ne 
sake  of  having  a  house  in  the  village  to  live  in. 
Then  she  was  amazed  at  the  idea  of  any  per 
son  continuing  to  live  in  a  log  house  in  the 
woods,  when  she  had  a  pretty  house  of  her  own 


GOOD   MANAGEMENT.  179 

Thomas'  improvements  at  Mary  Erskiue's. 

in  the  middle  of  the  village.  She  could  not 
for  some  time  be  satisfied  that  Mary  Erskine 
was  in  earnest  in  what  she  said.  But  when 
she  found  that  it  was  really  so,  she  went  away 
greatly  relieved.  Mary  Erskine  told  her  that 
she  had  postponed  giving  her  final  answer  about 
buying  the  house,  in  order  first  to  see  Mr.  Gor 
don,  to  know  whether  he  had  any  objection  *n 
the  change  of  ownership.  She  knew,  of  course, 
that  Mr.  Gordon  would  have  no  right  to  object, 
but  she  rightly  supposed  that  he  would  be  grat 
ified  at  having  her  ask  him  the  question. 

Mary  Erskine  went  on  after  this  for  two  01 
three  years  very  prosperously  in  all  her  affairs. 
Thomas  continued  to  live  with  her,  in  her  log- 
house,  and  to  cultivate  the  land  which  she  had 
retained.  In  the  fall  and  winter,  when  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done  in  the  fields  or  garden, 
he  was  accustomed  to  work  in  the  shop,  mak 
ing  improvements  for  the  house,  such  as  finish 
ing  off  the  stoop  into  another  room,  to  be  used 
for  a  kitchen,  making  new  windows  to  the 
house,  and  a  regular  front  door,  and  in  prepar 
ing  fences  and  gates  to  be  put  up  around  the 
house.  He  made  an  aqueduct,  too,  to  conduct 
the  water  from  a  new  spring  which  he  discov 
ered  at  a  place  higher  than  the  house,  and  -so 


180  MARY  ERSKINE. 

The  brook.  The  trellis  at  the  front  door. 

brought  a  constant  stream  of  water  into  the 
kitchen  which  he  had  made  in  the  stoop.  The 
stumps,  too,  in  the  fields  around  the  house,  grad 
ually  decayed,  so  that  Thomas  could  root  them 
out  and  smooth  over  the  ground  where  they  had 
stood.  Mary  Erskine's  ten  acres  thus  hecame 
very  smooth  and  beautiful.  It  was  divided  by 
fences  into  very  pleasant  fields,  with  green  lanes 
shaded  by  trees,  leading  from  one  place  to  an 
other.  The  brook  flowed  through  this  land 
along  a  very  beautiful  valley,  and  there  were 
groves  and  thickets  here  and  there,  both  along 
the  margin  of  the  brook,  and  in  the  corners  of 
the  fields,  which  gave  to  the  grounds  a  very  shel 
tered,  as  well  as  a  very  picturesque  expression. 
Mary  Erskine  also  caused  trees  and  shrub- 
oery  to  be  planted  near  the  house,  and  trained 
honey-suckles  and  wild  roses  upon  a  trellis  over 
the  front  door.  All  these  improvements  were 
made  in  a  very  plain  and  simple  manner,  and  at 
very  "little  expense,  and  yet  there  was  so  much 
taste  exercised  in  the  arrangement  of  them  all, 
that  the  effect  was  very  agreeable  in  the  end. 
The  house  and  all  about  it  formed,  in  time,  an 
enchanting  pich^re  of  rural  beauty.* 


See  Frontispijoa. 


GOOD  MANAGEMENT.  181 


Mary  Erskine's  pursuits.  Her  house  and  bridge. 

It  was,  however,  only  a  few  occasional  hours 
of  recreation  that  Mary  Erskine  devoted  to  or 
namenting  her  dwelling.  The  main  portion  of 
her  time  and  attention  was  devoted  to  such  in 
dustrial  pursuits  as  wrere  most  available  in 
bringing  in  the  means  of  support  for  herself  and 
her  children,  so  as  to  leaxe  untouched  the  in 
come  from  her  house  arid  her  bridge  shares 
This  income,  as  fast  as  it  was  paid  in,  she  de 
posited  with  Mr.  Keep,  to  be  lent  out  on  inter 
est,  until  a  sufficient  sum  was  thus  accumulated 
to  make  a  new  investment  of  a  permanent 
character.  When  the  sum  at  length  amounted 
to  two  hundred  and  twenty  dollars,  she  bought 
two  more  bridge  shares  with  it,  and  from  that 
time  forward  she  received  dividends  on  six 
shares  instead  of  four  ;  that  is,  she  received 
thirty  dollars  every  six  months,  instead  of 
twenty,  as  before. 

One  reason  why  Mary  Erskine  invested  he* 
money  in  a  house  and  in  a  bridge,  instead  of 
lending  it  out  at  interest,  was  that  by  so  doing: 
her  property  was  before  her  in  a  visible  form, 
and  she  could  take  a  constant  pleasure  in  seeing 
it.  Whenever  she  went  to  the  village  she  en 
joyed  seeing  her  house,  which  she  kept  in  a 
complete  state  of  repair,  and  which  she  had  or- 


J82  MARY  ERSKINE. 

Her  pleasure  in  her  property.  An  advantage. 

namented  with  shrubbery  and  trees,  so  that  it 
was  a  very  agreeable  object  to  look  upon  of  it 
self,  independently  of  the  pleasure  of  ownership. 
In  the  same  manner  she  liked  to  see  the  bridge, 
and  think  when  teams  and  people  were  passing 
over  it,  that  a  part  of  all  the  toll  which  they 
paid,  would,  in  the  end,  come  to  her.  She  thus 
took  the  same  kind  of  pleasure  in  having  pur 
chased  a  house,  and  shares  in  a  bridge,  that  any 
lady  in  a  city  would  take  in  an  expensive  new 
carpet,  or  a  rosewood  piano,  which  would  cost 
about  the  same  sum  ;  and  then  she  had  all  the 
profit,  in  the  shape  of  the  annual  income,  be 
sides. 

There  was  one  great  advantage  too  which 
Mary  Erskine  derived  from  owning  this  prop 
erty,  which,  though  she  did  not  think  of  it  at  all 
when  she  commenced  her  prudent  and  econom 
ical  course,  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  proved 
in  the  end  to  be  of  inestimable  value  to  her. 
This  advantage  was  the  high  degree  of  respect 
ability  which  it  gave  her  in  the  public  estima 
tion.  The  people  of  the  village  gradually  found 
out  how  she  managed,  and  how  fast  her  property 
was  increasing,  and  they  entertained  for  her  a 
great  deal  of  that  kind  of  respect  which  worldly 
prosperity  always  commands.  The  store-  keep- 


GOOD  MANAGEMENT.  183 

Mary  Erskine's  studies.  Bella's  and  Albert's. 

ers  were  anxious  to  have  her  custom.  Those 
who  had  money  to  lend  were  always  very  ready 
to  let  her  have  it,  if  at  any  time  she  wished  to 
make  up  a  sum  for  a  new  investment :  and  all 
'.he  ladies  of  the  village  were  willing  that  their 
daughters  should  go  out  to  her  little  farm  to  visit 
Bella,  and  to  have  Bella  visit  them  in  return, 
Thus  Mary  Erskine  found  that  she  was  becom 
ing  quite  an  important  personage. 

Her  plan  of  teaching  herself  and  her  children 
succeeded  perfectly.  By  the  time  that  she  had 
thoroughly  learned  to  write  her  own  name,  she 
knew  half  of  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  for  her 
name  contained  nearly  that  number.  She  next 
learned  to  write  her  children's  names,  Bella 
Forester  and  Albert  Forester.  After  that,  she 
learned  to  write  the  names  of  all  the  months, 
and  to  read  them  when  she  had  written  them. 
She  chose  the  names  of  the  months,  next  after 
the  names  of  her  own  family,  so  that  she  might 
be  able  to  date  her  letters  if  she  should  ever 
have  occasion  to  write  any. 

Mary  Bell  set  copies  for  her,  when  she  came 
out  to  see  her,  and  Mary  F/rskine  went  on  so 
much  faster  than  Bella,  that  she  could  teach  her 
very  well.  She  required  Bella  to  spend  an  houi 
at  her  studies  every  day.  Thomas  made  a 


184  MARY    ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine  finishes  learning  to  read. 

little  desk  for  her,  and  her  mother  bought  her  a 
slate  and  a  pencil,  and  in  process  of  time  an 
arithmetic,  and  other  books.  As  soon  as  Mary 
Erskine  could  read  fluently,  Mary  Bell  used  to 
bring  out  books  to  her,  containing  entertaining 
stories.  At  first  Mary  Bell  would  read  these 
stories  to  her  once,  while  she  was  at  her  work, 
and  then  Mary  Erskine,  having  heard  Mary 
Bell  read  them,  could  read  them  herself  in  the 
evening  without  much  difficulty.  At  length 
she  made  such  progress  that  she  could  read 
the  stories  herself  alone,  the  first  time,  with 
very  little  trouble. 

Thus  things  went  on  in  a  very  pleasant  and 
prosperous  manner,  and  this  was  the  condition 
of  Mary  Erskine  and  of  her  affairs,  at  the  time 
when  Malleville  and  Phonny  went  to  pay  her 
their  visit,  as  described  in  the  first  chapter  of 
this  volume. 


THE   VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKINE'S.    185 


Phonny  and  Malleville  again.  Tne  bird's 


CHAPTER    X. 
THE    VISIT    TO    MARY    ERSKIN^'* 

MALLEVILLE  and  Phonny  arrived  at  Mary 
Erskine's  about  an  hour  after  Beechnut  left 
them.  They  met  with  no  special  adventures 
by  the  way,  except  that  when  they  reached  the 
great  pine-tree,  Phonny  proposed  to  climb  up, 
for  the  purpose  of  examining  a  small  bunch 
which  he  saw  upon  one  of  the  branches, 
which  he  thought  was  a  bird's  nest.  It  was 
the  same  pine-tree  that  marked  the  place  at 
which  a  road  branched  off*  into  the  woods, 
where  Mary  Bell  had  lost  her  way,  several 
years  before.  Malleville  was  very  unwilling  to 
have  Phonny  climb  up  upon  such  a  hi<jh  tree, 
but  Phonny  himself  was  very  desirous  to  make 
the  attempt.  There  was  a  log  fence  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree,  and  the  distance  was  not  very 
great  from  the  uppermost  log  of  the  fence,  to  the 
lowermost  branch  of  the  tree.  So  Phonny 
thought  that  he  could  get  up  without  any  diffi 
culty. 

Malleville  was   afraid  to  have  him  tiy,  and 


186  MARY    ERSKINE. 

Climbing  for  the  bird's  nest.  Disappointment. 

she  said  that  if  he  did,  he  would  be  acting  just 
as  foolish  as  the  boy  that  Beechnut  had  told 
them  about,  who  nipped  his  own  nose  ;  and  that 
die  should  not  stop  to  see  him  do  any  such 
foolishness  So  she  walked  along  as  fast  as  she 
could  go. 

Phonny  unfortunately  was  rendered  only  the 
more  determined  to  climb  the  tree  by  Malle- 
ville's  opposition.  He  accordingly  mounted  up 
to  the  top  of  the  fence,  and  thence  reaching  the 
lower  branches  of  the  tree  he  succeeded  at 
length,  by  dint  of  much  scrambling  and  strug 
gling,  in  lifting  himself  up  among  them.  He 
climbed  out  to  the  limb  where  he  had  seen  the 
appearances  of  a  bird's  nest,  but  found  to  his 
disappointment  that  there  was  no  bird's  nest 
there.  The  bunch  was  only  a  little  tuft  of 
twigs  growing  out  together. 

Phonny  then  began  to  shout  out  for  Malle- 
ville  to  wait  for  him. 

"  Mai — le — ville  !  Mai — le — ville !"  said  he. 
"Wait  a  minute  for  me.  I  am  coming 
down." 

He  did  not  like  to  be  left  there  all  alone,  in 
the  gloomy  and  solitary  forest.  So  he  made  all 
the  haste  possible  in  descending.  There  are  a 
great  many  accidents  which  may  befal  a  boy  in 


THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKIN  E'S.  18? 


Phonny's  accident.  Malleville's  answer  to  his  charge. 

coming  down  a  tree.  The  one  which  Phonny 
was  fated  to  incur  in  this  instance,  was  to  catch 
his  trowsers  near  the  knee,  in  a  small  sharp 
twig  which  projected  from  a  branch,  and  tear 
them. 

When  he  reached  the  ground  he  looked  at 
the  rent  in  dismay.  He  was  generally  nice  and 
particular  about  his  clothes,  and  he  was  very 
unwilling  to  go  to  Mary  Erskine's,  and  let  hei 
and  Bella  see  him  in  such  a  plight.  He  was 
equally  unwilling  to  go  home  again,  and  to  lose 
his  visit. 

"  Provoking !"  said  he.  "  That  comes  from 
Malleville's  hurrying  me  so.  It  is  all  her 
fault."  Then  starting  off  suddenly,  he  began 
to  run,  shouting  out,  "  Malleville  !  Malleville !" 

At  length,  when  he  got  pretty  near  her, 
he  called  out  for  her  to  stop  and  see  what  she 
had  made  him  do. 

''Did  I  make  you  do  that?"  said  Malleville, 
looking  at  the  rent,  while  Phonny  stood  with 
his  foot  extended,  and  pointing  at  it  w'th  his 
finger. 

"  \  es,"  said  Phonny, — "  because  you  hurried 
me." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry  ;"  said  Malleville,  looking 
very  much  concerned. 


188  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mallevillo's  gentleness.  f  bonny's  trowsers  mended. 

Phonny  was  put  quite  to  a  nonplus  by  this 
unexpected  answer.  He  had  expected  to  hear 
MaHeville  deny  that  it  was  her  fault  that  he 
had  torn  his  clothes,  and  was  prepared  to  insist 
strenuously  that  it  was;  but  this  unlooked-for 
gentleness  seemed  to  leave  him  not  a  word  to 
say.  So  he  walked  along  by  the  side  of  Malle- 
ville  in  silence, 

"  Was  it  a  pretty  bird's-nest  ?"  said  Malleville 
in  a  conciliatory  tone,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"No,"  said  Phonny.  "It  was  not  any  bird's 
nest  at  all." 

When  the  children  reached  the  farm  as  they 
called  it,  Mary  Erskine  seated  Phonny  on  the 
bed,  and  then  drawing  up  her  chair  near  to 
him,  she  took  his  foot  in  her  lap  and  mended 
the  rent  so  neatly  that  there  was  afterwards  no 
sign  of  it  to  be  seen. 

Little  Albert  was  at  this  time  about  three 
years  old,  and  Bella  was  seven.  Phonny,  while 
Mary  Erskine  was  mending  his  clothes,  asked 
where  the  children  were.  Mary  Erskine  said 
that  they  had  gone  out  into  the  fields  with 
Thomas,  to  make  hay.  So  Phonny  and  Malle 
ville,  after  getting  proper  directions  in  respect 
to  the  way  that  they  were  to  go,  set  oiF  in  pur- 
suit  of  them. 


THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKINE'S.   18fl 

The  humming-birds.  The  path  to  the  hay-lield. 

They  went  out  at  a  back-door  which  led  to  a 
beautiful  walk  under  a  long  trellis,  which  was 
i  ^ered  with  honey-suckles  and  roses.  Malle- 
i  lie  stopped  to  get  a  rose,  and  Phonny  to  ad. 
nire  two  humming-birds  that  were  playing 
alout  the  honey-suckles.  He  wished  very 
much  that  he  could  catch  one  of  them,  but  he 
could  not  even  get  near  them.  From  the  ena 
of  the  trellis's  walk  the  children  entered  a  gar 
den,  and  at  the  back  side  of  the  garden  they 
went  through  a  narrow  place  between  two 
posts  into  a  field.  They  walked  along  the  side 
of  this  field,  by  a  very  pleasant  path  with  high 
green  grass  and  flowers  on  one  side,  and  a  wall 
with  a  great  many  raspberry  bushes  growing 
by  it,  and  now  and  then  little  thickets  of  trees, 
on  the  other.  The  bushes  and  trees  made  the 
walk  that  they  were  going  in  very  cool  and 
shady.  There  were  plenty  of  raspberries  upon 
the  bushes,  but  they  were  not  yet  ripe.  Phon 
ey  said  that  when  the  raspberries  were  ripe  he 
meant  to  come  out  to  Mary  Erskine's  again 
and  get  some. 

Presently  the  children  turned  a  sort  of  a  cor- 
ner  which  was  formed  by  a  group  of  trees,  and 
then  they  came  in  sight  of  the  hay-making 
party. 


190  MARY  ERSKJNE. 


The  children  in  the  hay-field. 


"  Oh,  they  have  got  the  horse  and  cart,"  said 
Phonny.  So  saying  he  set  off  as  fast  he  could 
run,  toward  the  hay-makers,  Malleville  follow . 
ing  him. 

The  horse  and  cart  were  standing  in  tht» 
middle  of  the  field  among  the  numerous  win- 
rows  of  hay.  The  two  children  of  Mrs.  Fores 
ter,  Bella  and  Albert,  were  in  the  cart,  treading 
down  the  hay  as  fast  as  Thomas  pitched  it  up. 
As  soon  as  Phonny  and  Malleville  reached  the 
place,  Malleville  stood  still  with  her  hands  be 
hind  her,  looking  at  the  scene  with  great  in 
terest  and  pleasure.  Phonny  wanted  to  know 
if  Thomas  had  not  got  another  pitch-fork,  so  thai 
he  might  help  him  pitch  up  the  hay. 

Thomas  said,  no.  He,  however,  told  Phonny 
that  he  might  get  into  the  cart  if  he  pleased,  and 
drive  the  horse  along  when  it  was  time  to  goto 
a  new  place.  Phonny  was  extremely  pleased 
with  this  plan.  He  climbed  into  the  cart,  Bella 
helping  him  up  by  a  prodigious  lift  which  she 
gave  him,  seizing  him  by  the  shoulder  as  J.< 
came  u  \  Malleville  was  afraid  to  get  into  the 
cart  at  all,  but  preferred  walking  along  the  field 
and  playing  among  the  winrows. 

Phonny  drove  along  from  place  to  place  as 
Thomas  directed  him,  until  at  length  tne  can 


THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKINE  s.    191 

The  hay.  Playing  upon  the  hay. 

was  so  full  that  it  was  no  longer  safe  for  the 
children  to  remain  upon  the  top.  They  then 
slid  down  the  hay  to  the  groind,  Thomas  re 
ceiving  them  so  as  to  prevent  any  violent  fail. 
Thomas  then  forked  up  as  much  more  hay  aa 
lie  could  make  stay  upon  the  top  of  his  load,  ana 
when  this  was  done,  he  set  out  to  go  to  the  barn. 
The  children  accompanied  him,  walking  behind 
the  cart. 

When  the  party  reached  the  barn,  the  chil 
dren  went  inside  to  a  place  which  Phonny 
called  the  bay.  Thomas  drove  his  cart  up  near 
the  side  of  the  barn  without,  and  began  to  pitch 
the  hay  in  through  a  great  square  window,  quite 
high  up.  The  window  opened  into  the  bay,  so 
that  the  hay,  when  Thomas  pitched  it  in,  feii 
down  into  the  place  where  the  children  were 
standing.  They  jumped  upon  it,  when  it  came 
down,  with  great  glee.  As  every  new  forkful 
which  Thomas  pitched  in  came  without  any 
warning  except  the  momentary  darkening  of 
the  window,  it  sometimes  fell  upon  the  chil 
dren's  heads  and  half  buried  them,  each  new 
accident  of  this  kind  awakening,  as  it  occurred, 
loud  and  long  continued  bursts  of  laughter. 

After  getting  in  two  or  three  loads  of  hay  in 
this  manner,  dinner  time  came,  and  the  wh^le 


192  MARY   ERSKINE. 

Dinner.  Preparations  for  the  strawberry  paity. 

party  went  in  to  dinner.  They  found  when 
they  entered  the  house  that  Mary  Erskine  had 
been  frying  nut-cakes  and  apple-turnovers  for 
them.  There  was  a  large  earthen  pan  full  of 
such  things,  and  there  were  more  over  the  fire. 
There  were  also  around  the  table  four  bowls 
full  of  very  rich  looking  milk,  with  a  spoon  in 
each  bowl,  and  a  large  supply  of  bread,  cut  into 
very  small  pieces,  upon  a  plate  near  the  bowls. 
The  children  were  all  hungry  and  thirsty,  and 
they  gathered  around  the  table  to  eat  the  excel 
lent  dinner  which  Mary  Erskine  had  provided 
for  them,  with  an  air  of  great  eagerness  and 
delight. 

After  their  dinner  was  over,  Mary  Erskine 
said  that  they  might  go  out  and  play  for  half  an 
hour,  and  that  then  she  would  go  with  them  into 
the  fields,  and  see  if  they  could  not  find  some 
strawberries.  Accordingly,  when  the  time  ar 
rived,  they  all  assembled  at  the  door,  and  Mary 
Erskine  came  out,  bringing  mugs  and  baskets  to 
put  the  strawberries  in.  There  were  four  mugs 
made  of  tin  ;  such  as  were  there  called  dippers. 
There  were  two  pretty  large  baskets  besides, 
both  covered.  Mary  Erskine  gave  to  each  of 
the  children  a  dipper,  and  carried  the  baskets 
herself.  She  seemed  to  carry  them  very  f.m*. 


THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKINE'S.   193 

Phonny's  guessing.  The  brook. 

fully,  and  they  appeared  to  be  heavy,  as  if  there 
might  be  something  inside.  Phonny  wanted 
very  much  to  know  what  there  was  in  those 
baskets.  Mary  Erskine  said  he  must  guess. 

"  Some  cake,"  said  Phonny. 

"  Guess  again,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Apples,"  said  Phonny. 

"Guess  again,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 

"  Why,  have  not  I  guessed  right  yet  ?"  asked 
Phonny. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  replied  Mary  Erskine. 
"  Only  you  may  guess  as  much  as  you  please." 

Phonny  of  course  gave  up  guessing,  since  he 
was  not  to  be  told  whether  he  guessed  right  or 
not ;  though  he  said  he  was  sure  that  it  was  cake, 
or  else,  perhaps,  some  of  the  turn-overs.  The 
party  walked  along  by  very  pleasant  paths  until 
they  came  to  a  field  by  the  side  of  the  brook. 
There  were  trees  along  the  banks  of  the  brook, 
under  which,  and  near  the  water,  there  were  a 
great  many  cool  and  shady  places  that  were  very 
pleasant.  Mary  Erskine  led  the  way  down  to 
one  of  these  where  there  was  a  large  flat  stone 
near  the  water.  She  hid  her  two  baskets  in  the 
bushes,  and  then  directed  the  children  to  go  up 
into  the  field  with  her  and  get  the  strawberries 

The  strawberries  were  not  only  very  aburv 

N 


194  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Pickiag  strawberries.  Mary  Erskine's  baskets 

dant.  but  also  very  large  and  ripe.  Mary  Er- 
skine  said  that  they  might  all  eat  ten,  but  no 
more.  All  that  they  got,  except  ten,  they  must 
put  into  their  dippers,  until  the  dippers  were 
full.  She  herself  went  busily  at  work,  finding 
strawberries  and  putting  them  into  the  dippers 
of  the  children,  sometimes  into  one  and  some 
times  into  another.  In  a  short  time  the  dippers 
were  full. 

The  whole  party  then  went  back  to  the  brook 
and  sat  down  upon  the  great  flat  stone,  with 
their  dippers  before  them.  Mary  Erskine  then 
brought  out  one  of  her  baskets,  and  lifting  up 
the  cover,  she  took  out  five  saucers  and  five 
spoons. 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  I  brought  you  some  sau 
cers  and  spoons  to  eat  your  strawberries  with. 
Now  take  up  the  bunches  from  your  dippers, 
and  pull  off  the  strawberries  from  the  stems, 
and  put  them  in  the  saucers." 

While  the  children  were  all  busily  engaged 
in  doing  this,  Mary  Erskine  opened  the  othei 
basket,  and  took  out  a  pitcher  of  very  rich  look 
ing  cream.  The  sight  of  this  treasure  of  course 
awakened  in  all  the  party  the  utmost  enthusiasm 
and  delight.  They  went  on  hulling  their  straw 
berries  very  industriously,  and  were  soon  ready. 


THE   VISIT  TO   MARY  ERSKINE'S.  195 


The  pic-nic. 


Phonny  and  the  fishes. 


one  after  another,  to  have  the  cream  poured 
over  them,  which  Mary  Erskine  proceeded  to 
do,  giving  to  each  one  of  the  children  a  very 
fi'mndant  supply. 


THE    STRAWBERRY    PARTY. 


Phonny  finished  his  strawberries  first,  and 
Then  went  to  the  margin  of  the  brook  to  look 
into  the  water,  in  order,  as  he  said,  "  to  see  if  he 
could  see  any  fishes."  He  did  see  several,  and 
became  greatly  excited  in  consequence,  calling 
eagerly  upon  the  rest  of  the  party  to  come  down 
and  look.  He  said  that  he  wished  very  much 


196  MARY  EUSKINE. 


Phonny  goes  after  a  fishing-line.  Beechnut. 

that  he  had  a  fishing-line.  Mary  Erskine  said 
that  Thomas  had  a  fishing-line,  which  he  would 
lend  him  she  had  no  doubt;  and  away  Phonny 
went,  accordingly,  to  find  Thomas  and  to  get 
the  line. 

This  procedure  was  not  quite  right  on  Phon- 
ny's  part.  It  is  not  right  to  abandon  one's  party 
under  such  circumstances  as  these,  for  the  sake 
of  some  new  pleasure  accidentally  coming  into 
view,  which  the  whole  party  cannot  share. 
Besides,  Phonny  left  his  dipper  for  Mary  Er 
skine  or  Malleville  to  carry  up,  instead  of  tak 
ing  care  of  it  himself.  Mary  Erskine,  however, 
said  that  this  was  of  no  consequence,  as  she 
could  carry  it  just  as  well  as  not. 

Mary  Erskine  and  the  three  remaining  chil 
dren,  then  went  back  to  the  house,  where  Bella 
arid  Malleville  amused  themselves  for  half  an 
hour  in  building  houses  with  the  blocks  in 
Thomas's  shop,  when  all  at  once  Malleville  was 
surprised  to  see  Beechnut  coming  in.  Beech 
nut  was  returning  from  the  mill,  and  as  the  chil 
her.  had  had  to  walk  nearly  all  the  way  to 
Mary  Erskine's,  he  thought  it  very  probable 
that  they  would  be  too  tired  to  walk  back  again. 
So  he  had  left  his  horse  and  wagon  at  the  coi 
ner,  and  had  walked  out  to  the  farm  to  take  the 


THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKINE'S.   197 

Beechnut  goes  to  find  Phonny. 

children  home  with  him,  if  they  were  ready  to 

g°- 

"  J  am  not  ready  to  go/'  said  Malleville,  after 
having  heard  this  story,  but  I  will  go  for  the 
sake  of  the  ride.  I  am  too  tired  to  walk  all  the 
way.  But  Phonny  is  not  here.  He  has  gone 
a-fishing." 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?"  said  Beechnut. 

"  Down  to  the  brook/'  replied  Malleville. 

"I  will  go  and  find  him,"  said  Beechnut. 

So  saying,  Beechnut  left  the  shop,  went  out 
into  the  yard,  and  began  to  walk  down  the  path 
which  led  toward  the  brook.  Very  soon  he  saw 
Phonny  coming  out  from  among  the  bushes 
with  his  pole  over  his  shoulder,  and  walking 
along  with  quite  a  disconsolate  air.  Beechnut 
sat  down  upon  a  log  by  the  side  of  the  road,  to 
wait  for  him. 

"  Did  you  catch  any  fishes  ?"  said  Beechnut, 
as  Phonny  approached  him. 

"  No/'  said  Phonny,  despondingly. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Beechnut. 

"  Glad !"  said  Phonny,  looking  up  surprised, 
and  somewhat  displeased.  "  What  are  you 
glad  for?" 

'  For  the  sake  of  the  fishes,"  said  Beechnut. 

"  Hoh  !"  said  Phonny.     "  And  the  other  day 


198  MARYERSKINE. 


Phonny's  accident. 


when  I  did  catch  some,  you  said  you  were  glad 
of  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  Beechnut,  "  then  I  was  glad  for 
your  sake.  There  is  always  a  chance  to  be 
glad  for  some  sake  or  other,  happen  what  may." 

This,  though  very  good  philosophy,  did  not 
appear  to  be  just  at  that  time  at  all  satisfactory 
to  Phonny. 

"  I  have  had  nothing  but  ill-luck  all  this  after 
noon,"  said  Phonny,  in  a  pettish  tone.  "  That 
great  ugly  black  horse  of  Thomas's  trod  on  my 
foot." 

"  Did  he  ?"  said  Beechnut ;  his  countenance 
brightening  up  at  the  same  time,  as  if  Phonny 
had  told  him  some  good  news. 

"  Yes,"  said  Phonny,  "  Thomas  came  along 
near  where  I  was  fishing,  and  I  laid  down  my 
fishing-line,  and  went  up  to  the  horse,  and  was 
standing  by  his  head,  and  he  trod  on  my  foot 
dreadfully." 

"  Did  he  ?"  said  Beechnut,  "  I  am  very  glad 
of  that." 

"  Glad  of  lhat !"  repeated  Phonny.  "  I  don'* 
see  whose  sake  you  can  be  glad  of  that  for.  1 
am  sure  it  did  not  do  the  horse  any  good." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that  for  your  sake,"  said  Beech 
nut.     "  There  never  was  a  boy  that  grew  up  to 


THE  VISIT  TO  M/VRY  ERSKINE'S.   199 


Beechnut's  consolation. 


be  a  man,  that  did  not  have  his  foot  trod  upon 
at  some  time  or  other  by  a  horse.  There  is  no 
other  possible  way  for  them  to  learn  that  when 
a  horse  takes  up  his  foot,  he  will  put  it  down 
again  wherever  it  happens,  and  if  a  boy's  foot 
is  under  it,  it  will  get  trod  upon.  There  is  no 
possible  way  for  boys  to  learn  that  but  by  ex 
periencing  it.  The  only  difference  is,  that  some 
boys  take  the  treading  light,  and  others  get  it 
heavy.  You  have  got  it  light.  So  if  you  have 
only  learned  the  lesson,  you  have  learned  it 
very  easily,  and  so  I  am  glad." 

"No,  it  was  not  light,"  said  Phonny.  "It 
was  very  heavy.  What  makes  you  think  it 
was  light  ?" 

"  By  your  walking,"  replied  Beechnut.  "  I 
have  known  some  boys  that  when  they  took 
their  lesson  in  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  horses' 
forefeet,  could  not  stand  for  a  week  after  it.  You 
have  had  most  excellent  luck,  you  may  depend." 

By  the  time  that  Beechnut  and  Phonny 
leached  the  house,  Malleville  had  put  on  her 
Voinet  ana  was  ready  to  go.  Mary  Erskine 
said  that  she  would  go  with  them  a  little  way. 
Bella  and  Albert  then  wanted  to  go  too.  Their 
mother  said  that  she  had  no  objection,  and  so 
they  all  went  along  together. 


200  MARY   ERSKINE. 

The  new  road.  The  raspberry  party. 

"  Did  you  know  that  we  were  going  to  have 
a  new  road  ?"  said  Mary  Erskine  to  Beechnut 

"  Are  you  ?"  asked  Phonny  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  Erskine.  "  They  have 
aid  out  a  new  road  to  the  corner,  and  are  going 
to  make  it  very  soon.  It  will  be  a  very  good 
wagon  road,  and  when  it  is  made  you  can  ride 
all  the  way.  But  then  it  will  not  be  done  in 
time  for  my  raspberry  party." 

"  Your  raspbe*  ry  oarty  ?"  repeated  Phonny, 
"  what  is  that  ?' 

"  Did  not  I  tell  you  aoout  it  ?  I  am  going  to 
invite  you  and  all  the  children  in  the  village 
that  I  know,  to  come  here  some  day  when  the 
raspberries  are  ripe,  and  have  a  raspberry  party, 
— like  the  strawberry  party  that  we  had  to-day. 
There  are  a  great  many  raspberries  on  my 
place." 

"I'm  very  glad,"  said  Malleville.  "When 
are  you  g<?mg-  to  invite  us  ?" 

"  Oh,  in  s  week  or  two,"  said  Mary  Erskine. 
"  But  then  f  ne  new  road  will  not  be  done  until 
ihe  fall.  They  have  just  begun  it.  We  can 
hear  them  working  upon  it  in  one  place,  pretty 
soon." 

The  party  soon  came  to  the  place  which 
Mary  Erskine  had  referred  to.  It  was  a  point 


THE  VISIT  TO  MARY  ERSKINE  s.    20) 

Causeway  building.  The  oxen  at  their  work. 

where  the  new  road  came  near  the  line  of  the 
old  one,  and  a  party  of  men  and  oxen  were  a* 
work,  making  a  causeway,  across  a  low  we* 
place.  As  the  children  passed  along,  they  could 
hear  the  sound  of  axes  and  the  voices  of  men 
shouting  to  oxen.  Phonny  wished  very  much 
to  go  and  see.  So  Mary  Erskine  led  the  way 
through  the  woods  a  short  distance,  till  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  men  at  work.  They  were 
engaged  in  felling  trees,  pulling  out  rocks  and 
old  logs  which  were  sunken  n  the  mire,  by 
means  of  oxen  and  chains,  and  in  other  similar 
works,  making  all  the  time  loud  and  continual 
vociferations,  which  resounded  and  echoed 
through  the  forest  in  a  very  impressive  manner. 
What  interested  Phonny  most  in  these  opera 
tions,  was  to  see  how  patiently  the  oxen  bore 
Deing  driven  about  in  the  deep  mire,  and  the 
prodigious  strength  which  they  exerted  in  pull 
ing  out  the  logs.  One  of  the  workmen,  would 
take  a  strong  iron  chain,  and  while  two  others 
would  pry  up  the  end  of  a  log  with  crow-bar 9 
or  levers,  he  would  pass  the  chain  under  the 
end  so  raised,  and  then  hook  it  together  above. 
Another  man  would  then  back  up  a  pair  of 
oxen  to  the  place,  and  sometimes  two  pairs,  in 
order  that  they  might  be  hooked  to  the  chain 


202  MARY  ERSKINE. 


Mary  Erskine  returns  home. 


which  passed  around  the  log.  When  all  was 
ready,  the  oxen  were  started  forward,  and 
though  they  went  very  slowly,  step  by  step, 
yet  they  exerted  such  prodigious  strength  as 
to  tear  the  log  out  of  its  bed,  and  drag  it  off, 
roots,  branches,  and  all,  entirely  out  of  the 
way. 

Monstrous  rocks  were  lifted  up  and  dragged 
out  of  the  line  of  the  road  in  much  the  same 
manner. 

After  looking  at  this  scene  for  some  time,  the 
party  returned  to  the  old  road  again,  and  there 
Mary  Erskine  said  that  she  would  bid  her  visitors 
good-bye,  and  telling  them  that  she  would  not 
forget  to  invite  them  to  her  raspberry  party,  she 
took  leave  of  them  and  went  back  toward  hei 
own  home. 

"  If  all  the  children  of  the  village  that  Mary 
Erskine  knows,  are  invited  to  that  party,"  said 
Phonny,  "  what  a  great  raspberry  party  it  will 
be!" 

"Yes,"  said  Beechnut,  "it  will  be  a  rasp, 
terry  jam." 

THE    END. 


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4.  WALLACE.  9.  RODOLPHUS. 

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Marco  Paul's  Voyages  and  Travels  in  the  Pursuit  of 
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THE  YOUNG  CHRISTIAN. 

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BRUNO;   or,  Lessons  of  Fidelity,  Patience,  and  Self-Denial 

Taught  by  a  Dog. 
WILLIE  AND  THE  MORTGAGE:  showing  How  Much  may 

be  Accomplished  by  a  Boy. 
THE    STRAIT    GATE;   or,  The  Rule  of   Exclusion   from 

Heaven. 

VOL.  II. 

THE  LITTLE  LOUVRE ;  or,  The  Boys'  and  Girls'  Picture- 
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PRANK ;  or,  The  Philosophy  of  Tricks  and  Mischief. 
EMMA ;  or,  The  Three  Misfortunes  of  a  Belle. 

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TIMBOO  AND  FANNY ;  or,  The  Art  of  Self-Instruction. 

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FRANKLIN,  the  Apprentice-Boy. 
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of  Drawing,  for  Young  Artists  at  Home. 

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THE  STORY  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY,  from  the  Earliest 

Periods  to  the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
THE  STORY  OF  ENGLISH  HISTORY,  from  the  Earliest 

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LAPSTONE ;  or,  the  Sailor  turned  Shoemaker. 
ORKNEY,  THE  PEACEMAKER ;  or,  The  Various  Ways  of 

Settling  Disputes. 

VOL.  XL 

JUDGE  JUSTIN ;  or,  The  Little  Court  of  Morningdale. 
MINIGO ;  or,  The  Fairy  of  Cairnstone  Abbey. 
JASPER ;  or,  The  Spoiled  Child  Recovered. 

VOL.  XII. 

CONGO ;  or,  Jasper's  Experience  in  Command. 
VIOLA  and  her  Little  Brother  Arno. 

LITTLE  PAUL;  or,  How  to  be  Patient  in  Sickness  and 
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CYRUS  THE  GREAT.  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

DARIUS  THE  GREAT.  QUEEN  ELIZABETH. 
XERXES.  CHARLES  I. 

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ROMULUS.  HERNANDO  CORTEZ. 

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WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR.          HORTENSE. 

RICHARD  I.  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 

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For  the  convenience  of  buyers,  these  popular  Histories 
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CYRUS. 

DARIUS. 

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GENGHIS  KHAN. 

PETER  THE  GREAT. 

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ALFRED. 

WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR. 

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MARIA  ANTOINETTE. 
JOSEPHINE. 
HORTENSE. 
MADAME  ROLAND. 


II. 

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ROMULUS. 
HANNIBAL. 
PYRRHUS. 
JULIUS  CAESAR. 
NERO. 


IV. 

Later 
British  Kings  and  Queens. 

RICHARD  III. 

MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

ELIZABETH. 

CHARLES  I. 

CHARLES  II. 

VI. 

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KING  PHILIP. 
HERNANDO  CORTEZ. 
HENRY  IV. 
LOUIS  XIV. 
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